


Love Is Ǝvil

by InGenius88



Series: He's just my Nightmare I woke up to [2]
Category: Eminem (Musician), Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Eminem, Cats, Cheating, Collars, Coming Out, Crossdressing, Deaf Character, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Dubious Consent, Family Fluff, Fist Fights, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Heart-to-Heart, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Inner Dialogue, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Control, Love Triangles, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Nude Photos, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Slut Shaming, Texting, Therapy, Top Nicolas Brown, Violence, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2020-10-19 19:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 64
Words: 341,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InGenius88/pseuds/InGenius88
Summary: It's September 2010, Marshall Mathers better known as Eminem is getting his life back together. He has been sober for two years now and two albums later his work is going fine as well. But the hardest is yet to come: How to find romance? Only thing he knows is being a dork and a slut. That ain't love.But then he meets Nicolas, a man with a mean stare and a real sword. Perhaps the man with a hundred scars can tame Marshall?





	1. This Type of Static

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I try to write with respect and compassion about all the things I don't know shit about, like what deaf people go through or how hard life with mental health problems can be. But I'm not part of either of these groups of people, so don't take any of this as real.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a random motel, Marshall hooks up with a stranger. It's just to relieve some urges, why else would he want to fuck another man?

He shut the car door. Room 101, oddly fitting. All of this was rather new to him. Not that he hadn't had many one-night stands before, he was a pro at them. It also wasn't the first time - well, not the very first time at least - he had this kind of one-night stand, just … He didn't feel comfortable doing this. It felt wrong to drive to a motel like this, to sneak in one of the rooms and … to do it with another man.

A shiver ran down his spine.

_Come on, Marshall_, he told himself, _don't get coy now._

In the window of 101 was light already. The guy was early. Or was he late? Didn't matter, it's not like he owed that guy anything.

Marshall's hand shook slightly, when he put it on the door handle. He murmured a curse under his breath. He clenched his fist a couple of times, to make the shaking go away. Maybe it worked? He opened the door.

The room was half lit and seemed clean enough on the first look. The bed was still made. And the guy stood next to it, already opening the buttons of his dress shirt. Dress shirt? Marshall blinked. Why was this guy wearing a suit? This was a seedy motel and they were about to engage in some fast, meaningless sex. Probably not even good sex, if Marshall's experience was anything to go by. And since all he did was one-night stands, that was a pretty safe bet.

Marshall shrugged mentally. "Hey man", he said and took off his jacket.

"Hm", was the answer.

Not one for talking, eh? Probably for the best. Marshall didn't like people, who were noisy during sex. The wrong kind of noisy. They usually ended up saying something wrong anyway. When he did this kind of meet up, he didn't really want to be recognized. And he really didn't want to be asked for an autograph, while his dick was inside another man's ass. Some people had no manners.

He took his shirt off, too, and started on his belt. The other guy was already down to his panties and Marshall couldn't help but look. Of course he had to, that was his sole reason for being here.

The guy was small, even slightly smaller than Marshall, which was surprising. Usually he was the smallest in a room. Now with his suit off, he didn't look like a stuffy business person at all. The guy had broad shoulders and compact muscles. A couple of scars, a huge one across his hip. He obviously got into trouble quite often. The hands were also big for a guy his size. Marshall anticipated a strong grip, another shiver ran down his spine.

_Marshall, you're way too into this. Get a grip on yourself, man._

He didn't care if people were gay or lesbian or trans or whatever. People could be who they wanted and people could have sex with whoever they wanted. But himself? There was strong resistance inside him. Understandably, he had a lot to lose if it ever came out. Every time he went out to a one-night stand like this, he raised the odds of it getting out. People loved gossip.

He intentionally ignored, that he always had this resistance. Even back in the day, when he hadn't had anything to lose and even his life had seemed worthless. Still, he had been fighting these … urges. Just biological urges.

His eyes were still on the other man, the pale skin glowing in the half lit darkness. Muscles twitched invitingly and a tattoo smiled back from the shoulder blades. Marshall liked tattoos. The man's back was lean and his hips almost seemed fragile. A weird contrast to the well trained biceps. A feeling of familiarity welled up inside Marshall.

That ass was tight. He bit his lip. He would love to bite into those cheeks - and luckily, he would in just a couple of minutes.

He opened his belt fast, lost his pants. This wasn't a moment for patience. Just raw, sweaty sex, certainly fast and then he was out of here.

* * *

Marshall bit in the other man's navel. The muscles were hard and pronounced, just like he loved it. Just like he always had wished a body to be when he had been with a woman, back in the days … His dick was hard, itching to be inside this tasty ass. As he had thought: so worth biting into. His teeth marks would probably be there for a couple of days. A strange sense of pride washed over Marshall. This ass just needed teeth marks.

He decided, the lube was enough now. With a condom on, he positioned himself between the other's legs, also with some scars and definitely not fitting for a ball gown. Where did all these scars come from? Sure, everyone had some, that was just life, but this seemed excessive. Marshall's hand ran down one of these legs, short and strong. He licked the inner thigh, sucking at the skin and feeling the muscles twitch beneath.

The tip of his penis knocked against the sweet, wet hole. "You okay?", he asked in a low voice. Some consideration for the other person should always be. At least Marshall tried. He had been much of an asshole most of his life, something he didn't want to be. Some people might be surprised to hear that.

"Hmm", and a nod.

Really not a big talker this guy. But his dick was just as hard and his moaning spoke for itself.

Marshall pushed in. He moaned and sighed. So hot and tight and just … awesome. It still fazed him how this could feel just great and erotic, but sex with a woman didn't. Wasn't it the same? Between the other's legs, squeezing into a tight, wet hole. Somehow this was different - and much, much better, even with a bad one-night stand.

The other guy rocked his hips, gripped the sheets and had a fine film of sweat on his well-defined body. He reached for his hard dick, some pre-cum on it.

At the same time, Marshall was reaching for it, too. Like in a romantic comedy where the two soon-to-be lovebirds were reaching for the same book or cup of coffee. Just this was a porn movie.

He smirked about this silly thought of his. Like usual, his brain was somewhere else. But nevertheless, he stroked the other man's penis. Not just to be considerate, but also because he really liked the feeling of a dick between his fingers.

In a sober moment, he would call himself crazy for a thought like this. He should like the tender curve of a female hip and the soft feeling of her breasts underneath his fingertips … But he didn't. He wanted to feel the hard flesh of a penis ready to burst in his hands and a low, husky voice moaning his name. Some muscles and sharp angles were like a cherry on top.

His therapist said, there was nothing wrong with him. He just liked what he liked. Sometimes he believed her. _Because you're a romantic and an idiot._

Currently he enjoyed, no, savored the moment. He pushed himself into this sweet hole, groaned, a rush in his body, lust coursing through his limbs. He had a tight grip on the other dick, stroking it, pumping it, loving the feeling of this hot hard piece of flesh in his hand.

He came. Panting he still stroked the other man, till he also came. Didn't take long. Then he collapsed onto the bed and relished this feeling of contentment, with a side of satisfaction.

This had been better than he anticipated. Quickly he threw the condom away and found a more cushy position on the bed. Just a moment longer before he had to go.

When his breathing was normal again, he dared a quick look to the guy next to him. The face was a bit square, the jaw bone's had an edge and the nose small. Some shadows under his eyes, or was that just the dim light? The short black hair was a mess.

"Hm?" Marshall rolled onto his side to have a better look. There was a gadget behind the man's ear. A hearing aid? That explained his closed off nature. If you couldn't hear, talking probably wasn't much fun.

The guy opened his eyes and looked back.

Oops. He probably shouldn't stare. And he usually didn't! Not at some one-night stand he didn't care anything about. But also not at handicapped people, at least he hoped so. They were people, too, and being stared at was a really shitty feeling. He knew that from experience.

"Uhm … Are you deaf?", he asked and gestured to his ear. He rather faced a situation head on, even embarrassing ones.

The guy made a measured gesture. "Mostly." The voice was deep and full, a bass sound that vibrated through Marshall's nerves. His ears were too sensitive for this shit. The guy spoke in a strange accent, even though he only said one word. Probably, so Marshall assumed, because he couldn't hear himself well but also wouldn't know how it properly sounded like in the first place.

"Does that help, the thingy in your ear?"

"Bit", was the monosyllabic answer.

Well, this wasn't going to be much of a conversation. Marshall didn't feel like prying about this. After all, just because there was something obvious about you, didn't mean, that was something to talk about. Also something he knew from experience. He got pretty pissed at people, when they couldn't come up with something else to talk about than how fucking famous he was.

_Fuck conversation, it's just a one-night stand, fag! _Sometimes his brain was really stupid. He rolled back on his back. Just a couple more moments of relaxation, then he'd drive home. He closed his eyes again.

* * *

"More?", asked a deep voice right next to his ear.

His ear tingled from the puff of air this small word caused. Marshall opened his eyes again and stared into small, dark eyes with shadows under them, a rogue strand of hair was caught on their lashes. "More?", he repeated. Well, he usually didn't do that. It usually wasn't good enough for that, so after he got his orgasm he just went. What else was there?

Now he shrugged. Then nodded. "Yeah, sounds good." It had been better than he thought initially. So why not make the most of it?

The man already bit into his clavicle, a hand stroked Marshall's body. He really had strong hands with a firm grip. The skin was a little rough, not in a bad way.

Marshall's hand found its way into the black hair. It was short and spiky, but somehow it felt really warm to the touch. The other man just radiated warmth.

Then they kissed.

They didn't kiss before. That wasn't always sexy, in Marshall's experience. Not every tongue felt good in your mouth, that's just the truth.

But now they kissed. A hot jolt rushed through his loins. The thin lips felt good on his own and the tongue ravished his mouth. This was more than sexy. His breathing stumbled while they kissed, his arms held tight around the tattooed shoulders. His mind was unable to concentrate on anything else than their tongues intertwined with each other.

This time, they explored more of each other. Not just with those thrilling kisses. Their hands stroked and fondled each other's bodies, discovered how sensitive Marshall's neck was and scraped teasingly against the other man's butt cheeks. Their tongues licking and exploring their muscular bodies, biting into hard flesh and kissing apologetically but without any remorse. Their bodies always close together. All the senses were hot and their arousal was obvious.

The guy, whose name he still didn't know, licked his ear and bit into it. Marshall moaned breathlessly. His head let go of his thoughts. What was a name anyway? He needed nothing else than those hot lips on his earlobe.

Then the low voice whispered: "Make 'em wet." His accent made the command sound serious. Or was that just his nature? While speaking those words, he stuck two of his fingers between Marshall's lips. Not with force, but with determination.

And Marshall did as ordered.

When he was a kid, he'd had problems with authority and people telling him what to do. He still had a bad temper sometimes, if somebody told him what to do and he didn't like doing that. But he also knew that at times other people were right. Which usually made his anger worse.

Why he now just did what was asked of him?

It felt … right.

The arms around him, the hands on his body, the hot skin touching his and the thin lips kissing him. There was a lot of tension in his limbs and mind, a sizzling anticipation of what was about to come. And how lustful everything was. So he dedicated his attention to those fingers and licked them, sucked at them, swallowing them as far into his throat as he could manage. He wanted to prove something, but he wasn't really sure what. How could he think now? He had a job to do: sucking these fingers. So he did and the taste of this man's skin would stay with him for days.

He sighed, when the fingers were pulled out of his mouth. But the short pang he felt, had no time to linger.

The man pushed one of those sweet, wet fingers into Marshall's ass.

"He-hey", he stuttered and propped himself up on an elbow. He didn't do that! He might be a little gay, but he wasn't that gay. "Pull it out."

Dark eyes looked at him. Even though he was deaf, Marshall was certain that the man had understood his objection. But he just grinned, and not in a comforting way.

Not that Marshall needed any comfort. He was a grown man, he didn't need comfort when he was fucking some other dude. He was perfectly fine doing that. _Since when? You have panic attacks, homo._ Well, not perfectly fine but fine enough. The pleasure it gave him was usually great at silencing the voices in his head that knew him better. The other way around though? An absolute no-go.

"Pull it out", he repeated. He could feel the finger inside him. How could he not? His muscle clenched around it. The heat was still soaring through his veins. He bit his lip, a habit he wasn't always aware of. A sign of nervousness and insecurity. But right now he was fully fucking aware of it and what he was nervous and unsure about: He might like this. He might be that kind of gay, too. Something he barely dared thinking about. There was this resistance again and angst like some lousy teenager too scared to kiss. He knew at some point he had to face this. You always had to.

But not now. He just wanted to fuck, have a good night for once and hopefully fall asleep in his bed later. Getting fucked in his own ass was not on the menu!

The dark eyes were still looking intensely at him, right down to his soul. That sounded corny. _Think so? It's straight from a cheesy romance novel._ Their black seemed to know no light. All of Marshall's shadows just disappeared inside them. Did these black holes for eyes already know, what Marshall was too afraid to admit to himself?

The two of them were still holding in place, unmoving and barely breathing, just looking into each other's eyes. Black against blue, a fierce battle. Marshall wasn't one to back down. He always fought. He had to or else he wouldn't have had much of a life in the first place. And he was determined to never lose. This time was no exception. He had a rule: his ass ain't gonna get fucked. This dumb suit would follow his rules or else he …

_Or else you what?_ Would he just get up and leave? Ending this with some sad masturbation at home? That seemed like too great a loss. These black eyes so close, knowing, maybe even caring … No, that was just arrogance. The thin lips showed only the slightest hint of a smile, but the provocation was palpable, as was his defeat.

With a snort Marshall finally broke. He didn't want to end this alone, just his hand for pleasure. This had been great sex so far, better than he had had in months. What was a little gay extra, if it felt this good? Let future Marshall deal with that.

He kissed the other man again, dug his fingers into the black hair and pressed his body against his. Then, the finger moved deeper inside him and Marshall felt it. The finger got company and Marshall felt that, too. It felt a little weird, but not in a bad way, just in a new way. He heard himself pant and moan, as the fingers moved more. He didn't know if he liked it, but his body certainly did. The traitor!

Not for long, the fingers were replaced by the man's erection. Pushed hard and deep into Marshall. He screamed with pleasure and a hint of pain. That felt really big … Again his muscles clenched around it, he would have liked to think because his ass wanted to push this goddamn dick out like it should, but a shiver ran through his body, again telling him otherwise. His hips moved all on their own and towards the body above him and he moaned even more. The guy chuckled softly.

_You're such a fag, Marshall._

Marshall gripped the sheets hard, but that didn't help. He wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders above him, that helped a little. His insides seemed to burn with lust and digging his nails into the man's back seemed to release some of that. Not enough of it. When was the last time he had been this overwhelmed? Another thing for future Marshall to figure out.

The wave of his orgasm broke over him. Broke was a particularly good word. He felt exhausted in the best of ways. His limbs were heavy and his breathing too, his heart beat itself right out of his chest. Just bliss. Something he didn't have much of in his life.

However, he also felt like crying. He had broken his rule and it hadn't been disgusting at all. He wasn't just a little gay because women were bitches no sane person could live with, he was totally gay. Fuck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smirk.


	2. If I Ever End Up Escaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive isn't as silent as Marshall would like it to be.

He cursed under his breath as he put his clothes back on.

Now, he really was that gay … Marshall sighed at this thought. He knew, that wasn't really how these things went down. It's not like having had sex like this made him gay. His therapist had explained to him, you just were. It was one of those things you were born with, just a part of you.

That didn't mean, he had to like it, though. And Marshall definitely didn't. Couldn't he have been normal in just one way? Was that too much to ask? Apparently. Nothing in his life ever went normal, why should this?

But still. He had a mental image of himself, of what he wanted to be like. He wasn't always great at making it real, but he tried. Of course the most important aspect of that image was being a father. Most of the time he thought he did a pretty good job at this. Not perfect and he had failed a lot over the years, but all in all it seemed fine. At least his daughters loved him, he was mostly sure about that. That was all that counted.

Also, the image included what kind of man he wanted to be. A tough question for everyone, of course. Some words always came up: strong, reliable, decisive - masculine. The last one was really tricky. What did that mean, masculine? _Not you, that's for sure!_ Generally, so he was very sure, that did not include liking the touch of another man's penis. Much less getting fucked with that other man's penis. Somehow that didn't seem like a very manly thing to do, even though only men were involved. Wasn't that a funny thing?

Didn't exactly bring him into a laughing mood just now. He closed the motel room door and scurried quickly to his car. Not something his butt appreciated right now, that traitor.

While he put his seat belt on, he said to Big Eight: "Let's go."

His bodyguard started the motor and drove off the parking lot. Quietly the radio played some tunes. Nothing of interest and nothing Marshall cared to recognize. His mind was still very much in that motel room, in the arms of the man he didn't know the name of. In the app his nickname was _Benriya_, but that wasn't a real name. Maybe Benjamin? Somehow that guy didn't look like a Benjamin to him.

Why did he even care!

"Was long tonight", Big Eight said at a left turn.

Marshall shrugged. "So? Ain't like I need to care about school night or anything."

"True", Big Eight smiled slightly about the joke. He was not big on showing his emotions, something Marshall appreciated about him.

After some more silence and a couple more traffic lights, Big Eight spoke again: "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Marshall had spent the drive so far staring out the window. Trying hard not to think about the last couple hours. But he could taste the man's fingers on his tongue. Which obviously wasn't a thought he wanted to have in front of other people. If only it was his face that heated up … _You're such a horny little fag, it's disgusting, you know._ Distraction welcome. "Hm? Sure? We're friends, that's personal already."

"Still, there are layers of personal."

"What's up? You're in some kind of trouble?"

Big Eight shook his head. "No, nothing like that." For a short moment, he looked over to Marshall. "Aren't you getting tired of nights like this?"

Marshall met the glance questioningly.

"I mean", Big Eight explained further, "I've been driving you to some motel room for a couple of years now. It's rare when I see a face twice. I know you have a lot on your plate and meeting new people ain't easy any way you slice it, but … Most people want something stable, with real affection. Right?"

"Probably. How would I know what most people want?" He didn't look at himself as a special person, but his life wasn't exactly regular. There probably were a couple of things that most people and him wanted differently.

"The question is, do you?"

Of course he did! He was a human after all, of course he wanted company. Real company. That was part of the human condition and usually a good one. He liked coming home to a loving hug and an understanding smile, maybe a kiss or two. Just having somebody around that he really liked was a good feeling all on its own. _Could you sound more domestic? You wanna be housewife or what?_ Plus, spending time with friends was fun and a healthy relationship offered a lot in this regard.

But as an answer to Big Eight's question he shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not? But that usually doesn't turn out well. I don't have much luck with relationships."

"Did you try recently? You seem to meet … let's say different people now than you would've in the past. Maybe that'll make a difference."

Marshall shot a scrutinizing look at him. "I ain't meeting different people. It's all the same as it's always been." That was a lie, a big lie. Naturally he met different people than in the past, he was trying to be gay for crying out loud. _Which you also suck at, just so you know._ If he still was meeting women, then he wouldn't have much of a gay night out, would he? But he wasn't prepared to admit that yet or for anyone to know this. He should've seen it coming, that Big Eight figured it out. He drove him to these meet ups and his eyes worked fine, so it just had been a matter of time. Sometimes, Marshall felt really stupid.

"I see the people you meet and it's not exactly rocket science to figure out why you meet them."

"That's none of your business", Marshall snarled. Deliberately he turned to the window and watched the street lights pass by.

Big Eight looked him over, Marshall could feel his eyes moving across him. "You're right, it's not." A measured tone in his voice, calm and quiet, but firm. "Still, I think you should try. You're a caring person, as far as I know. It'll probably do you good to be in a relationship. Some people can be alone well, some people are better when they're with someone else."

Marshall grumbled. He knew that himself. And he also knew that he was one of the latter people. He liked having his friends around and he liked being in a relationship, at least as long as everything was fine. Having people around him made time more enjoyable and life seemed less hard. Being with people silenced some of the voices in his head, the thoughts he couldn't silence himself. _Oh, you don't like me? Screw you!_ When he was all by himself for too long or worse shut himself off from everyone else, he just got depressed and miserable. He knew that!

"And", Big Eight continued, totally ignoring Marshall's grumbling, "If in the past you only had relationships with the wrong kind of people for you, well, how could've that worked out? Sometimes people don't match well and that has nothing to do with luck. But if you're trying some different people now, you probably should try this properly. Don't you think?"

"No, I don't", Marshall answered quickly. Too quick and wrong, too. His therapist would very much approve, if Marshall tried this properly. How else could you work on a problem seriously? And he had a problem, tons of them, but this was a big one. He knew that. He knew, he should try harder. Just having some quick fuck with someone's ass didn't do anything to solve his problems. He wasn't really trying to be gay here, because he really didn't want to be gay in the first place. Why would he try then?

_Because you are._

Because denying himself made him unhappy, miserable, distraught, depressed … There was a long list of words. Because he hated himself. That led to another long list of words: more depression of course, but also anger, anxiety, addiction and those were just the fun words with A. If he wanted to lead a better life, he needed to work through this. His therapist only saw one kind of success: accepting that he was gay.

Again, he didn't want to be fucking gay.

"No? So, you're not really trying to change then?"

"Of course I'm trying to change." He didn't like the person he had become over the years and he tried to change that. But still, that didn't mean he had to become gay. He could be a better person and still be straight. Other people could do that, so he could do it, too. _Your delusions know no bounds. _Except for the fact, he wasn't straight. This night cemented that deep into his brain. He could still hear his own voice, screaming lustful with every thrust into his body.

"Well?", Big Eight asked expectantly. "If you try to change, then why not do it properly?"

Marshall growled low. "Shut up."


	3. I Don't Want to Be …

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall is alone with his thoughts. He shouldn't be.

The ceiling looked down on him disapprovingly.

Marshall flipped it off, then he rolled his eyes about himself. He was such an idiot.

He should've left the motel when he had had the chance. One orgasm was enough for one night, but no, he of course couldn't get his mouth full enough. As usual. Well, figuratively. At least that he hadn't done.

Yet.

Instantly, he had an image in his head, himself kneeling in front of that guy, his lips around the erection and his eyes closed with relish. _Swallow that cum, fag._

"Oh god", he sighed, covering his face with his hands. His cheeks were too hot and so was his abdomen. Again, he heard his own voice moaning lustful.

He could still taste the guy, his tongue and his fingers. Oh fuck, how he had sucked those fingers ... So then, he had gotten his mouth full. Great, all gay boxes checked. Now what?

Marshall rolled on his side and pulled the blanket over his head. He hadn't felt this awful in a long time and he wasn't exactly thrilled to feel like shit again. If he could just disappear. He had thought he was over that. These nights out were making it worse. What was his therapist thinking? He would go out on stage and come out as gay, find a cute cottage in the country side and move there with his boyfriend and two tiny dogs? Fuck that! That ain't never gonna happen.

Next time he saw his therapist, he'd tell her to shut it. This gay thing wasn't working out and even if he'd be fine with being gay - which he absolutely wasn't - he couldn't live like this anyway. No reason to try what you couldn't have. He had enough other problems to work through.

Like, how he was crying right now. He didn't even know what he was crying over. This was just fucked up. Gay sex made you into wuss. _Don't flatter yourself, you've always been a softie._ He couldn't afford that. One more reason not to be gay.

He still felt a tingling sensation where he absolutely shouldn't. He could still feel the thin lips moving on his, the other man's tongue licking his ear, the stranger's hands stroking all over his body ...

Marshall hated himself.


	4. I'm Tired of Committin' So Many Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall has an appointment with his therapist. He doesn't want to talk about what happened last week, but it's eating away at him regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never been to therapy. This is taken out of cheesy movie tropes, so don't take this serious but just as the plot device that it is.

"Look, Doc, this was a stupid idea", he said barely standing in the room. He closed the wooden door behind him and stepped to the couch. It was a two seater, light grey and a little coarsely meshed. Marshall actually liked this piece of furniture.

His therapist sat in a chair consistent with the couch, one leg crossed the other and her hands rested patiently in her lap. She had long brown hair with just a hint of curls. Obviously she dressed in business attire, a woman couldn't afford to be casual if she wanted to go places or be perceived as professional. As far as Marshall's experience went, she knew her stuff. She wasn't the first therapist he'd tried, but even though she was a woman he could actually talk to her. And she listened. He didn't feel the urge to boast about some stupid stuff and even if he was ashamed of his thoughts, she always took him seriously.

Now she looked at him curiously. "What stupid idea exactly?"

"The whole gay thing. Didn't work out. I'm done with it. Let's move on."

"You actually tried it?" She sounded surprised and disbelieving.

He nodded.

"How was it?", she asked. She never sounded pestering or annoyed or furious like all other women Marshall knew. Her voice was always calm, soothing even. Most of the time it didn't bother him when she asked him stuff. And she asked a lot.

Now he shifted uncomfortable in his seat. "Didn't work out, told you already."

"What didn't work out?" She always wanted to know the details, all the little details. "Did you not find a man to your liking? Or did you not get aroused? Or did your temper get the better of you and it ended in a fight? Or did he have a bad temper? Or did he ask for an autograph? I can imagine that might be more of a turn off for you."

"It is", he mumbled. Just because she was his therapist, didn't mean he rushed to the opportunity to tell her how he cried himself to sleep. And he very well knew that was exactly the situation he should tell her about. "But I found some guys that didn't", he explained. "That just didn't work out." He shrugged.

She looked him over and made some thoughtful humming noises. He was sure she knew he was lying, but her voice stayed even. No prejudice, no condescension, no anger, no wisecrack - just a normal question: "Does that mean, you're not homosexual?"

He flinched slightly at the sound of that word. "I'm done with it. Case closed." That didn't sound convincing. He really needed to work on his acting skills.

"It's a yes or no question."

He didn't answer. He just looked down to his shoes, they were black with red laces. He liked this color combination a lot. Its meaning could be scary or erotic or just stylish and it could switch between them in an instant. Right now it seemed to accuse him. He could hear her question - that word - echoing in his head.

"Those can be the toughest questions", she said and sounded like she understood exactly how hard this was. "Why don't you walk me through one of these encounters you had. You said you found some guys, right? Maybe there was one with whom it didn't work out the most."

He didn't say a word. Of course he knew which night he should tell her about, the one he could still taste in his mouth and still feel on his body. The night when he had cried. The night that could never repeat itself.

Suddenly his mouth was dry but he didn't dare to move and pick up the glass of water from the table. If he just sat here unmoving, his mouth wouldn't move either.

Well, that he should know better.

He met her eyes. She sat in her chair waiting, looking at him with kind expectation. That's what he liked about her, she never rushed him.

He took a sip from that glass of water. "There's this app", he started in a hushed voice. He decided to tell her about some other night. He'd done more than one of these hook-ups. If he told her about a one-night stand with godawful sex, she would understand that this couldn't work for him. "The profile wasn't all that special but the pic was nice. We agreed to meet at this motel. He was already half naked when I stepped in the room. He has a tattoo across his shoulder blades ..." Marshall bit his lip. That wasn't the one he wanted to tell. Of course his mouth had a mind of its own again. Traitor. Only once it could've just said what he wanted to say. Just once.

"Do you like tattoos?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up. "Yeah, I do."

A short nod, but no further question from her. She wanted him to continue with his story.

He sighed. Fine, then the story of that guy. The first round should be enough for his therapist to know, because the second was too embarrassing to tell. "Anyway, we got our clothes off and onto the bed and ... well, I had sex with him." He shrugged. What else was there to say? "Do you want details on _how_ we had sex exactly?", he asked her almost defiantly. Only almost.

That raised a smile on her lips. "No, that's your private life, I don't need to know that. Just tell me this: Did you rush out of that motel room afterwards or did you want to stay with him just a little longer?"

He exhaled in defeat. "Kinda both."

"How so?"

"After the first time I felt good, you know. Relaxed. The cushion was surprisingly soft, too. I was ... content? He wasn't much of a talker, he's deaf, that's probably why, so ...", he shrugged again.

"Would you have liked to talk to him?"

"It was just a one-night stand", he tried to dodge the question. But he knew better. "I don't know. Perhaps? I think so."

She nodded briefly. "What happened next?"

Marshall felt his cheeks burn. "He wanted another round." He couldn't tell her about that. He couldn't tell anybody. Ever.

"I'm assuming, you agreed to it."

He didn't answer but his silence probably was answer enough.

"But after this second round you weren't relaxed anymore?"

He still didn't answer, just bit his lip. His cheeks burned like hell and so did his eyes. _Don't cry! Don't cry! Don't cry! _He had to convince her to let this go already. This was just making it worse, didn't she see? He couldn't be gay!

"Marshall, are you okay?"

No, he wasn't. He pinched the root of his nose, trying hard to hold back the tears. He still didn't know why this made him cry. He just hated it, all of it. "He broke my rule." His voiced cracked.

She leaned forward in her chair and asked with her soft voice: "What rule did he break?"

Marshall bit his lip even harder. How could he say that out loud? He didn't even want to think about it. Why was he like this? He felt so awful. It had felt so awesome. "He ... fucked me." His voice was barely audible. He shuddered under his own words.

She made another thoughtful noise. Her next words were chosen carefully. "Did he break that rule ... or did you break that rule with him?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I wanna do it again."

"And that is not a good thing?"

"Of course not!", he snapped at her.

She didn't even blink. "Why not? That is a totally normal thing to do betweenconsenting adults."

"I know that", he growled. "But it ain't for me, aight. I shouldn't - I can't do this!" He jumped from the couch and paced through the small office. He was still biting his lip and it hurt, so he bit even more.

"Why not?", she asked again.

"You know why!" He shot an evil look at her. "Stop askin' stupid questions."

She was as calm as ever. "That is my job, you know. They're designed to make you think about yourself. I know that it hurts sometimes, most of the time even, but it will be worth it in the end. I promise."

He snorted disgruntled. "Not if I lose everything!"

"Like what?"

A frustrated sound left his throat. These questions were annoying the hell out of him today. He didn't want to answer any of them. Not one! "My daughters, for starters. My brother, of course. My friends probably. My colleague's respect. My reputation. My career. My work. My fans. My goddamned life. Just fucking all of it!" He ran shaky hands over his face. Fuck, now he really was crying. Shit! _You're such a pussy! No wonder you love dicks._

She pushed a tissue box into the middle of the table. "Did your daughters ever say anything to you? Something that indicated they would have such a strong homophobic viewpoint?"

"Shut your mouth!", he growled dangerously. "My daughters are good girls, the best. They would never do that."

She nodded in agreement. "Of course they wouldn't, you raised them right. They love you, because you are a good father. I don't think they care much about who you go out with. They want you to be happy, don't they?"

He frowned and looked at her with suspicion.

"From what you told me about them, they seem like kind-hearted and open-minded young women. They will understand."

He sat down on the couch again and took some of the tissues to dry his face. "Even if, I could never tell them. They already endure so much because of me, I don't need to add this to the list."

"By this, you mean, being homosexual."

"Stop saying that word!", he yelled at her.

She payed his outburst no mind. "What word would you prefer instead?"

He slumped into the couch cushions. "None of them."

"What word do you use when you're thinking about this? What would you use to describe yourself?"

He grumbled. "Not that one. And I'm not describing myself as anything. This ain't a thing, stop making it one."

"Judging by the bite on your lip, it has been a thing for a while. It might be a good idea to work through this before you mutilate yourself more seriously. This can be a frightening and hurting topic, but that's precisely what I'm here for." She gave him a consoling smile. "And just because you worked through this and found an answer, doesn't mean you have to go and tell everybody. This is, after all, your private life and nobody needs to know anything you don't want them to know."

He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't the point of this all to be all fine and good with stuff like this and come out of the closet and shit?"

"For most people, yes", she confirmed. "But not everybody is in a position to do so. There's still a lot of prejudice going around these days and at times, it's the smarter move to not say anything. Like you said, some people have a lot to lose."

"That's exactly my fucking point." Finally! He felt triumphant. He'd won this argument. He couldn't be gay and he wouldn't be. _You already are and you love it._ Case closed. "I have way too much to lose to do any of this shit. And I wouldn't do this to my girls, they got through all my antics and they deserve some fucking peace for once."

She shook her head. "So do you. You also deserve some peace of mind about who you are. Isn't that why you're here? Because you're hurting and this is the cure."

"Oh fuck that. What's that supposed to mean anyway?" He was confused by her last words. What exactly did she mean with cure? His stomach tightened.

She looked him in the eye. Her expression was calm and serious and ... caring? Did she really care about him? He payed her enough money for these sessions, so she better did.

"Why were you crying?" she asked.

"I didn't cry", he huffed. "Not for long at least, that don't count."

"Everything counts."

He eyed her back. She knew, he'd cried before, didn't she. How the fuck did she know? "How would I know? You're the therapist, you tell me. That's what I pay you for."

"You wouldn't learn much, if I just told you everything."

He rolled his eyes. "Am I in school again or what? Spit it."

She gave him another long look. Probably weighing her options: telling him even if that wasn't much of a lesson, or not telling him and dealing with his stubborn ass. As if he would engage with her lesson. He never had been a good student, he wouldn't start now.

"Tell me", she started, "if any of this rings a bell. Back in school the words homosexual, gay and faggot were just for abuse. Kids can be really mean. Probably said to you well before you knew they were true. Girls didn't appeal to you all that much and if the world would be fair, that wouldn't be a big deal. But it was. Maybe there was a boy in your grade that you liked and you told him. Maybe he liked you back, maybe he didn't. Maybe he beat you up because of this, maybe some other guys did. Possibly both. Either way, you decided to hide yourself. If you found a cute girlfriend, no one would doubt you. That relationship didn't go well, it was doomed to fail from the start, but you stayed with her anyway. As long as nobody found you out, it was worth the pain. Now you had a family, who could doubt your sexuality with that? Plus, you had a little daughter to care for, which meant your desires, your very self could disappear into that. There is no room to be selfish in a family and that makes denying yourself easy. In the end all this pain, panic and paranoia breaks a man and in an unstable life this has dangerous consequences. Self-loathing rarely has only one cause, though some weigh more heavily than others. Believing the insults and prejudices of your youth is the reason you're crying now. You thought, when you halfheartedly tried some meaningless sex, you could outsmart me and carry on with your lies as if nothing had happened. That backfired. In that night, in the arms of that man you felt the truth. You can't run away anymore." She looked at him intently, observing his reactions closely.

At first he didn't even want to listen to her. If he showed indifference, she had to stop at some point. When she realized she was on the wrong track, they could go back to business and talk about his addiction or whatever. But with each word Marshall's eyes widened. Her words were like punches. Regardless how soft she spoke or how quiet her voice was, she aimed at his core and it shattered underneath the pressure. She tore through his defenses. He wanted to be angry at her, to lash out and drown her words out with his own voice shouting, to punch back and with fists, too, if he had to. _You fucking faggot._ He was angry at himself.

Marshall clenched his teeth.

Somehow all energy had left his body. He was weak and felt like crying again. _You're a gay piece of shit._ Was he so obvious? How did she know all this? Did everybody know? He needed to hide it better. Nobody could know! He should've never went to that motel.

Marshall's hands shook, still holding the tissue he had used to wipe his tears away earlier. Now it seemed meaningless, because even more tears rolled down his face.

He was defeated. Every word was true and there was no denying it. This story sounded so sad. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You love dicks, you only have yourself to blame. _How could he live like this?

He could not.

"Marshall?"

He raised his eyes. "Why?" His voice broke.

"There are no reasons."


	5. How Proud I Am That I Got Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall tries to help his daughter study, but somehow they start talking about his dating life.

He stared into the fridge with disgust. His nose wrinkled up on the impulse and, finally, he exhaled audibly as he shut the door again. There was nothing here he wanted to eat. Well, he didn't want to eat at all but of course you had to at some point. If you found something you could bring down your pipe, that was.

He sat back at the kitchen table. A notepad lay open and had some notes scribbled on its page. He was chewing on the end of his pen, a bad habit of his. The words on the page didn't make much sense to him. Sure, he had written them down there but that didn't mean shit. It wasn't a rhyme, he was trying to figure out, that would've been so much easier. No, he was trying to figure out something very different, almost the opposite. At least, his therapist wanted him to figure it out. He knew he should, but he couldn't bring the words into focus, much less his thoughts.

His honest thoughts, she had pressed him.

He grumbled frustrated und ran his hand over his short hair. He should just ditch her and finde some other therapist. Or maybe just ditch the whole therapy thing altogether. He had been sober for more than two years now and even though he was back to work and back on stage, he didn't feel tempted, not for alcohol or weed and pills didn't enter his mind like that anymore. He still rapped about them, of course. What else was he gonna write about? But he was good. His addiction needed no therapy no more.

He had other problems, though. Obviously! He'd had a melt down in his therapist's office, for fuck's sake. He had cried himself to sleep the other night, not generally a sign of a healthy mind.

Her words still spun in his head. How did she know all this shit? He thought, he was pretty good at hiding it. It didn't take much effort anymore, he had a whole routine for this. The bad and public history of his relationship failures and the rather misogynistic lyrics of his songs actually helped. People generally didn't expect him to care for women, not in a fond or tender kind of way, so there was no need to pretend. They didn't even expect him to like the general idea of dating or relationships and he had no need to correct them. So how the fuck did she find out? Why had she brought that up in the first place? Way before he got into this whole motel situation, she had this crazy idea in her mind he might be gay. Why did she think that? Next time he saw her, he needed to ask. If it was so obvious, he needed to change something. Immediately.

He sighed deeply.

She was right, though. And he hated that. He also hated, that it was just as obviously a problem and he had to work through it. Couldn't he just forget about all this? _No, fag, you love dick. Stop crying over it. _Sometimes he hated his head.

His life shouldn't have so much hate in it. He shouldn't hate himself so much and he thought, he'd done better in the last couple of years. He wanted to do better! But some things never changed ...

"Dahad!", a high pitched whine pierced his ears and a hand waved in front of his face.

Marshall blinked a second and fixed his eyes on his daughter. Judging by her pouting she had stood there for a while already, too long a while for her. "What up, Hai-Hai?" A quick movement of his hands flipped the notepad over.

"Lainy doesn't wanna help me study. The biology exam's tomorrow and I need someone to test me on it."

Marshall smiled with pride. His kids were really smart and they studied hard, he was so glad they didn't take after him with their school work. He tousled her hair a little. "Sure, I can do that. Sit down."

She straightened her hair again and gave him an annoyed look. But she sat down and gave him the book with the colorful highlighters and sticky notes all over the place. He still didn't know, how she could learn like this. As long as it worked for her.

"Pages 231 through 258", she told him.

"Aight", he mumbled and looked for said pages. "Let's have a look. What subject you're on anyway?" He found the pages and read the headline: _Developmental biology: reproduction and ontogeny_. Great, exactly what he needed right now, more sex talk.

"Don't panic, no human experiments involved", his daughter said reassuringly and smirked at the same time. She could be so cheeky, that she definitely took after him.

"Don't try me, you only turn red like a tomato again. There's still plenty we haven't talked about yet, you know. I got some experience with reproduction, my child."

She tilted her head. "That doesn't count. There's a time limit for these things and you, dear father, are way passed it. I had more dates this month than you had in the last couple of years."

He arched his eyebrows. "What?"

"You sure you don't revert back to a virgin after some time?" He saw her eyes twinkle with mischief. Oh, she so took after him sometimes and her big, innocent blue eyes did nothing to hide it.

He lowered the book again. "I go on dates, what do you think?" He was so stupid. Why did he fall for this? He had no reason to justify himself to his daughter and he sure as shit wasn't going to tell her about the dates he recently had had. "I just don't tell you girls, that's all. Or do I need your permission?"

"You do?", she asked surprised. "You never bring anyone home."

He shrugged. "Why would I?"

She tilted her head again and looked at him closely. "Don't you like any of them?" Not really a question and her tone was lurking, a little disbelieving. Maybe disapproving?

He shrugged again. "I'm not looking for something. It's better this way."

"You don't need to hold out because of us, you know that, right? We're big girls, we can deal with our dad having a girlfriend."

"Yeah, I know."

Hailie leaned forward in her chair, curiosity all over her face. "So, are you seeing someone? Is she nice? What does she do? Where did you guys meet? Does she live in the city? Does she have kids, too? When are you bringing her home?" Girls and gossip, the bane of humanity.

Marshall's phone beeped. Marshall's phone never beeped, he hated notifications, but now it did.

"Is that her?", Hailie asked and reached for his phone.

He was faster, luckily, and snatched his phone away from underneath her fingers. The display showed a notification from the dating app he used, there was a new message from Benriya: wanna cum tonite?

Marshall's dick twitched. Instantly he had the guy's taste in his mouth and images flashed before his eyes of him sucking that guy's dick. Why was he imagining that of all things? _Because you'll love it._ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"It is her", his daughter realized and had a big fat grin on her face. "You actually have a girlfriend, how cute is that."

He looked up. "What?", his voice was thin. He cleared his throat. "No, I ain't."

"Oh yes, you do. It's written all over you face, dad."

Let's hope not!

"Don't you have an exam to study for?", he asked stiffly and opened her book again.


	6. Endorphins I Effect - Such Passion You'd Expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after their first encounter, Marshall is back at the motel and hooking up with that same man. He knows he shouldn't, but he just can't help himself.

Why was he here? Why did he come here? Why had he answered that fucking text? Why was heat pooling in the pit of his stomach? What the hell was he doing?

His forehead slumped on the steering wheel. He even drove himself here to avoid any more of Big Eight's thoughtful stares. One more stupid thing, didn't add much to this whole stupid situation. All of this felt kind of dirty. Marshall's dirty little secret.

There was already light in room 101, exactly like last time. But he was determined to hold up his rule tonight. There was no funny business going on here, just some quick release.

Honestly, he didn't believe himself.

He hit the steering wheel and growled at himself. The door jerked open and he climbed out of his car. Another glance at the window, he saw the shadow of a man.

His dick twitched again. Another growl.

Marshall stepped into the motel room. Immediately his eyes stuck to the man's back, the tattooed shoulder blades, the hard muscles, the butt cheeks he wanted to sink his teeth into. Fuck. "Sup."

The man turned around, a short flick of his wrist indicated a greeting. Dark hair brushed his eyes, still shadows underneath them. His shirt and the blazer hung over the back of a chair.

Marshall took his jacket off. His sweater, too, which was pulled from his arms. A heated kiss on his lips and the man stood right in front of him, he could feel the warmth radiate from him. The stranger's fingers opened Marshall's belt, a strong grip pulled his pants down.

"Your name?", Marshall asked under his breath. He didn't need to know, a nameless one-night stand was exactly what this should be. Knowing the name of his dirty little secret just made it more real. He absolutely didn't need that. But he wanted it anyway.

The man looked at him questioningly.

"Your name", he repeated with more strength in his voice. As if that would help a deaf person.

The man grinned for a second. "Nicolas." The voice was low and husky, Marshall felt his ears heat up. The accent just made the sound more sexy.

A finger tapped against his chest. Was that the counter question? "Marshall", he answered.

The other man repeated the two syllables of his name and his nerves tingled at the sound.

Another heated kiss. He dug his nails into the man's - into Nicolas's back and he could feel the muscles at work. Faintly he remembered to step out of his pants as they moved to the bed. As Nicolas sat down, he pulled Marshall with him. Their kiss never breaking. He sighed with pleasure when their bodies connected, skin touching skin. His hands stroked over Nicolas's chest, scratched the pale skin, pinched the nipples.

Nicolas sighed quietly. His hands stroking the sides of Marshall's torso, down his back and pinched one of his ass cheeks.

A moan left Marshall's mouth and got sucked in between their lips. "Don't do that", he mumbled. He tried to prop himself up, his fingers dugging into Nicolas's chest for stabilization. But he couldn't break their kiss, his tongue just wouldn't leave the other's thin lips.

Nicolas nibbled at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Marshall's moan got stuck in his throat and he just lay down on this warm, sexy body again. His fingers ran through the spikey, black hair.

Another squeeze of his ass cheek. Marshall broke from their kiss and sat up. He groaned low, Nicolas's hard-on rubbed against his ass now, delightully worse. "Stop that."

Nicolas cocked his eyebrows.

Marshall shook his head.

Strong hands gripped his sides and threw him onto the bed. A surprised yelp as he hit the mattress with his back. Nicolas's hands ravished his body, touching him everywhere, scratching the skin, pinching his flesh. And Marshall twisted underneath him, stretched towards the unstoppable fingers. He moaned with pleasure, even more so when Nicolas kissed and licked and bit his way down his body. A low caw left his lips when Nicolas nibbled on his navel.

His head jerked up and his eyes searched for Nicolas's. But the man was sucking Marshall's dick and … A long moan and his head dropped back onto the pillow. Too hot, too good, too much.

Not enough.

He dug his hands into Nicolas's hair, wanting him to do more so badly. But the man stopped, rather he licked and bit and sucked on Marshall's thigh. His leg trembled underneath those lips. "Fuck", he panted and pulled Nicolas up. He needed these lips on his own. Their tongues danced with each other.

Nicolas's body lay down on his, their skin touched, their erections stroked each other. He moaned again and his hips moved on their own, wanted more of that prickling sensation. His legs closed around Nicolas's waist, pulling him in even more. Just more.

A pleasured sigh and his hips moved again as a hand scraped along his ass on its way down. A hot jolt rushed through his stomach. "Shit", he cursed, running a hand through his hair. This shouldn't feel … Another hot kiss, another hot touch of their hard dicks rubbing against each other. A craving spread through his body that he shouldn't endulge.

"Fine, whatever", he mumbled more to himself than to Nicolas, who was sucking at the nape of his neck - turns out, he loved that. Not just that. This time he rolled his hips on purpose, they both moaned. His hand reached down and tugged at Nicolas's hard-on, stroking it and loving the sensation this caused in his fingers. He could hardly let it go, but he needed to. So he slid the hard flesh down between them and Marshall groaned with pleasure as he felt the tip knocking against his hole. He bit his lips as he looked to the other man.

In Nicolas's eyes he saw amusement twinkle and he kissed him again, puzzlingly it was gentle and soft this time. His hands moved down Marshall's body again, teasing his flesh with pleasure. The path was hot but quick, fingers invaded his hole. Marshall groaned as an answer and his muscles trembled, moved towards the intruders. He cursed again.

The preparation didn't take long. Marshall liked to think, this was because Nicolas was too impatient and just wanted to get on with the fucking. Which he approved of. Their voices filled the room. His body convulsed as the dick slid inside him. Desire and lust were palpable.

The next moment, Marshall lay on his stomach and the friction of the warm sheets against his hard dick brought out another moan. Reminded him, that he should want more action there. But Nicolas pushed inside him again, gripping his hips hard. Marshall moved against him, pushed back, pushed up. He writhed underneath each thrust.

Another long, relishing groan as Nicolas reached for his dick.

* * *

He panted heavily and lay flat on his stomach on the bed. His fist loosened slowly around the sheets he had grabbed. They had so broken his rule again. Shit. And his ass was totally hooked. Fuck.

Next to him lay Nicolas, also heavily breathing. Some sweat glistened on his raising chest, his dog tags sprawled all over the muscles. He glanced over, their eyes met and Nicolas grinned again. His sexy, mean grin.

Marshall shoved their shoulders together. "Stop that", he mumbled. That grin sent shivers down his spine, not something he needed from a one-night stand. Well, two-night stand.

"Relax."

_Does he ever say more than one word?_, Marshall wondered. But he asked something different. "What's with the fancy getup?", he gestured towards the chairs with their clothes. It still puzzled him, why he would dress like that. Nicolas didn't seem like a suit, at least between the sheets he wasn't.

Nicolas's eyes followed the gesture. "Work", was the short answer.

Marshall sighed inaudibly. This guy, never heard of a conversation before or what? "What do you do?" A split second Marshall thought about Hailie and how he now would have an answer to her questions, but he quickly wiped her from his mind. His daughters weren't a thought he wanted to have in a sex ridden motel room.

"Security", Nicolas answered, again with just one word.

"Really? Must be somewhere special then." Most security guards he knew had a uniform or didn't dress special at all, except maybe for a t-shirt calling them out.

Nicolas shrugged. "Night club."

Technically that was two words. Were they getting somewhere conversation-wise? _Why even talk to this guy? You got fucked, now get out._ "In a suit? Must be a classy night club, eh."

Another shrug. Silence.

Marshall grumbled and closed his eyes. Fine, no talking then, see if he cared. He just wanted to be nice. _No need to be a dick about it_, he chided himself. He wasn't deaf, so what did he know about holding up a conversation like this. How much help was a hearing aid anyway? Was lip reading actually a thing? He didn't know, if Nicolas actually understood him in some way or just inferred well. If he had to guess every word, he wouldn't have fun with a conversation, either.

"And you?", asked the dark voice.

He looked up in surprise and his heart fluttered. Nicolas had interest in him? _Fuck you, faggot, you're just a shitty booty call._ "I'm a musician, a rapper actually."

"Successful?"

He propped his head up with his hand. "Yes, quite so." He was less successful than he used to be back in the day, but it still dwarfed what most other rappers achieved. "I got my own record label and a radio station and shit like that. I even won an Oscar once." Why was he bragging here? As long as he did music, he didn't really care about these things. Money and fame were just tools, helpful and annoying, but they didn't mean shit as a personality.

Nicolas smirked. "No modesty. Show off."

He shoved Nicolas's shoulder again.

"A gay rapper. Didn't know they existed."

Yeah, neither did Marshall. "I ain't gay", he denied. His therapist could shove it up her ass, he wasn't figuring nothing out and nothing honest, neither. Stupid shit.

Nicolas looked at him skeptically, then he laughed. His bass vibrated through the air and tickled Marshall's senses. He felt his ears heat up again. He wanted to make a beat that sounded like this laugh.

"Your ass is gay, believe me." Nicolas's grin was mean and knowing.

"My ass is a fucking traitor." And so was his mouth, apparently. Marshall never shut up when he should. He knew he should but his mouth just talked on its own. It had gotten better since he was sober, not good enough, though.

"Your ass is hot."

Marshall just looked at him and for a moment these dark eyes transfixed him. He had to look away. His fingers were picking at the creases of the sheets. How did he feel sheepish at those words?_ You're a girl, that's how. _It wasn't like no one had called him hot before. Celebrities got that even if it wasn't true. But he was sure, Nicolas meant it.

Nicolas rolled onto his side and propped himself on an elbow. "So, a big bad rapper like you, what you need an app for?"

"I should ask you the same thing." Didn't he want to talk? But now he got all defensive, that'll surely make things better. However, Marshall did like how Nicolas finally said more than one word per line. He liked his voice. _Aw, is our little faggot falling in love? How cute. Let me puke!_ The accent got more noticeable this way as well, the syllables had a soft tone to them and there was more emphasize on the vowels than Marshall would've put there. Also a little monosonic. It must be weird to speak without hearing much - or any? - of it.

Nicolas leaned forward a little, looking at him closely and with the meanest grin in his eyes. "Let me guess, big bad rappers don't get boy-toys delivered, only bitches."

Maybe not talking had been the better option. This was worse than therapy and this guy liked teasing way too much. Although, Marshall might've said the same thing if their roles were reversed. Sometimes teasing was too much fun.

"Only drunk bitches and schemers, both's a bad fuck and a huge pain in the ass afterward."

"But you like huge things in your ass."

"No, I don't!", he said too loud. He snarled angrily and kicked him. "Fuck off!"

Nicolas's smirk didn't fade. He bend over, pulled Marshall closer and kissed him again.

Marshall shoved his shoulder again, but couldn't help it and returned the kiss. Their tongues intertwined once more. Nicolas's warmth enveloped him and he nestled into the strong arms. _Right girl, get clingy, maybe homos like that. _Their lips caressed each other, tender touches. No rush, they just savored the other's taste.

As if Marshall could forget.


	7. I See My Baby, Suddenly I'm Not Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At breakfast his daughters ask, how his date went. He has a hard time convincing them, that he had not in fact been on a date.
> 
> At the studio, Ryan asks him about therapy.

Once more he stared into his fridge and once more its insides disgusted him. He took a plain yogurt out and sat at the kitchen counter scowling. He only ate because life forced you to. Although he felt like dying was a good idea, of course he didn't really want to die. He had a family to care for and more music to write. So he ate begrudgingly.

This time he also had cried himself to sleep after he had come home. His eyes were still a little red around the edges. It was infuriating. He shouldn't have gone and he should've been more adamant about his rule. Regardless, he still heard Nicolas's laugh and his ears tingled with the memory.

"Morning dad." Hailie walked into the kitchen and fixed herself some breakfast.

Whitney was close behind and just slumped down in her chair. She hated to rise early, hated it feverishly. The yawn was big. He felt sympathy for her, he'd had the same problems at her age. God, that sounded old.

"Mornin' girls", he answered and looked into his yogurt. Maybe a quarter, could be enough. So he stood up and put the yogurt back into the fridge. Then he poured some cereal for his youngest, she was still too much asleep to do it herself.

"Mornin'." A muffled sound from Lainy, she held her brush between her teeth and tried to tie her hair.

"You need help with that?", asked Marshall and sat down again, placed the bowl of cereal in front of Whitney. She actually took the spoon into her hand, that gave him some hope she would eat a little of her breakfast.

Lainy already enlisted Hailie's help. "Thanks dad, but no, I'm good."

"I can see that." Probably for the better. He raised three girls but he sucked at braiding hair. Like, that's fine but sometimes inconvenient. "So, are we ready for the exam today?"

Hailie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, dad, I know how reproduction works, thanks for asking." She said it on purpose like that, he knew. That were his genes shining through, the ones that made him talk whenever he shouldn't and made him rap words, people needed to protest against. He probably shouldn't feel proud about that, but his girl was clever and snarky, how could he not? They often shared some banter going back and forth, that was their special daughter-father-time.

But today he wasn't really in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for anything, except crawling back into bed and crying some more. _Sissy! Man up or drown in cum. You'd love that, wouldn't you, slut._ Maybe he should go on the treadmill again, before he headed to the studio? He had to get his head clear.

"What about you? How did your date go?" Hailie sat down next to him, smiling innocently as she ate her breakfast.

Lainy gave a surprised squeal. "You're dating? Since when?"

Even Whitney looked at him with open eyes. That woke her up fast.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, just sometimes he wished he had boys. They wouldn't care about his love life or his sorry excuse for one. But probably tease him even more. Pros and cons or some shit. "There ain't no dates."

"You told me yesterday, you're dating. She even texted you while we studied, remember?"

Why were his kids so quick? And nosy, so nosy. "I won't ever forget, princess, I promise. What I meant was, I occasionally go on dates ... every now and then."

"But you went out last night", his daughter pressed, "and you came home really late."

"How d'you know when I came home?", he asked with a tone of disbelief to his voice.

She tilted her head. "I live here?" This wasn't going well. How could he get them off track? If the past taught him anything, he wouldn't. His daughters were like bloodhounds, when they wanted something. And it seemed like they wanted to ruin his day today.

"You really had a date." Lainy realized and leaned over to him. She studied him closely. He almost felt like some rare insect they needed to preserve. "Did you two have a fight?"

"No, we didn't." Shit, wrong answer, he hurried to add, "And it wasn't a date. Can you guys just eat your breakfast, please."

Hailie deliberately bit into her sandwich. "So, you went out last night with someone but not on a date, and something bad happened between you two but not a fight. Seems like a lot of hassle for someone you don't really like."

"Why you think something bad happened?"

She shrugged. "We know you, dad."

Why was his love life so interesting anyway? First his therapist, then Big Eight, now his daughters, that's about half the people he interacted with frequently. That's a lot of people. "Seems like you don't. Nothing bad happened. And it wasn't a date. Is the interrogation over now?"

"But you went out with someone", Lainy repeated. "Come on, you can tell us when you like someone. No reason to be ashamed of having a girlfriend. We could help you, too. Your track record with women isn't too hot after all."

"Thanks for remindin' me."

Lainy shrugged. "You know what I mean." Of course he knew what she meant and she wasn't wrong. If he really would've wanted a girlfriend, he probably would've needed some help with that. Or any kind of romantic relationship, really.

"And it'd be nice, if you wouldn't have to be so lonely anymore", said Whitney between two spoons full of cereal.

That stung deep. He almost had a flashback to his therapist's office. Shit, now wasn't a good time to freak out. "Lonely? I ain't lonely! Why'd you think that? I just ... I -" He what? He had a lot of friends to hang with? Kinda true, but not the point. He didn't want a relationship anymore? Also kinda true but actually really wrong, and his daughters probably knew him better than to fall for a lie like that. He just had a string of nameless hook-ups so to hopefully fool himself into thinking he wasn't lonely? True and stupid, but he would never say that in front of his daughters. He got fucked by a man and that freaked him out so much, he cried himself to sleep? Very true but that was absolutely unutterable! "I'm fine, aight? I ain't lonely, just tired. Like you said, was late last night and I ain't gotten enough sleep. Happens. And I promise, if I date anyone nice, I'm gonna bring them. Just don't hold you breath on that."

His daughters shared a thoughtful look with each other. Great, they didn't believe one word.

"Is everything okay?", Hailie asked and sounded serious, her perky tone totally gone. Even more great, they actually worried about him. That's not how this was supposed to go.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." That didn't even convince himself. He really needed acting classes one of these days. "You guys need to get ready for school. Come on, let's go." He stood up and shooed them out of the kitchen.

* * *


	8. Rock City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan has an opinion on Marshall's therapy.

He chewed the end of his pen again. The piece of paper on the table was crumbled, his small writing hard to read between the wrinkles and he had the urge to throw it again. Still wasn't a rhyme he was brooding over. If his daughters could tell something was wrong with him, he really, really needed to work that out. He didn't want them to worry about him, that's not what kids were supposed to do.

But where should he start? _I got a suggestion: Why're you such a pussy?_ It wasn't like he wanted to be okay with this, because it wasn't. He just wanted it to go away.

"Sup? Already hard at work, hu." A brief touch on his shoulder, then Ryan strolled into his view. It still baffled him, how long Ryan and DeShaun had hold up their feud and he still didn't know what they had been fighting about. But he couldn't be more glad that they had squashed it before it had been too late. Especially since Marshall and Ryan vibed well with each other and in the last couple years their friendship really had gotten strong. Something his therapist was delighted by. She said, he had big trust issues and any close friend for him was a blessing. He couldn't really argue with that. Especially if that friend was Ryan.

Marshall sighed. "Not really. My therapist got me homework." It wasn't a secret among his friends that he got help for staying sober and working through his issues. Wasn't a secret that he had too many issues, either.

"Really?", he asked amused, "They can do that?"

Marshall gestured to the sorry piece of paper that made no sense to him. "Apparently. It's a bitch, though."

"Probably by design. If it was easy, you wouldn't shell out so much money for it."

True. But it was worth it, generally at least. Right now he wasn't so sure, but that was less about therapy and more about him and that he couldn't make himself engage with this whole thing. _Your ass engages for you._

"And it works for you?" Ryan eyed him closely. Why did just about everyone these days stare at him like that? Had he porn showing on his face or what. _You scream like one when there's a dick in your pussy_. "I mean staying sober and shit, you …", a somewhat helpless shrug. "You don't seem different, more focused, but not different."

He crumbled the piece of paper up again and stuffed it in his jeans. Whatever his thoughts about this gay disaster was, Ryan didn't need to see. Marshall was just glad, they were friends again, he didn't need to throw a wrench into that - again. "It's not about being different, just … uhm, a better version of myself? Sounds corny, I know", he huffed before Ryan could say anything. "I can't be a dad if I'm spaced out … or dead, that's all."

"And that's what you need therapy for? You got your dad shit down to a T, you always have."

Now he looked at Ryan curiously. "Why you asking?" Just because his friends knew, didn't mean they talked about it. They all had their sack of problems and if they had one thing in common than being stubborn sons of bitches, who didn't like sharing their feelings.

Another somewhat helpless shrug. "Just askin'." Ryan answered his stare. "Just … Can't imagine talking about this stuff does anything. What good does it do to open old wounds? That'll just make it worse."

Marshall shook his head slightly. "Just because they're old doesn't mean they're closed. Getting high is just running away from things, that won't ever fix anything. But I need to fix this, if I don't want to screw their lives up even more, you know." Man, he actually sounded like his therapist.

"But you _are_ sober and it doesn't seem like a lot of effort to you. You're fine, why still go to therapy?"

_Fine, my ass. You're dreaming of cum dripping out of your holes and dicks flying around hard for the taking. That ain't fine, that's fucked up._ Marshall grabbed his coke and took a long sip from it. His head was getting out of control. And he was right there with it, feeling heat in his stomach and seeing Nicolas's mean grin before his eyes. This was neither the time nor the place for gay sex fantasies, thank you very much. His hand held the can of coke too tight. "You got some rhymes for the beat I sent you?"

"Huh?" Ryan looked confused for a moment. "Smooth, Marsh, real smooth. You do that in therapy often?"

"Come on", he tried to sound as casual and indifferent as he could, "you don't really wanna hear me bitch about my problems. That's what I got my therapist for."

"Who either doesn't do a good job or you're more fucked up than I thought."

He felt the frown contort his whole face. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice jumped an octave at the end. So much for casual and indifferent.

Ryan leaned on the table. "I mean, you've been in therapy for a couple years. Shouldn't you be healed by now? Everyone got problems, that's what friends are for. But therapy, that's like really fucked up shit, right, like people who wanna kill themselves or got PTSD or some heavy shit like that."

Two years wasn't that long, was it? "What do you care? You wanna be my therapist now?" He jumped out of his seat, ready to attack. The only defensive move he had. "You don't have your shit together even worse than I do! I ain't gonna take health advise from an alcoholic, best friend or no friend. You don't know shit, stop actin' so big. You wanna be my friend, great, shut up. Just because I'm sober, don't mean I got no problems no more. How you think this shit works? I don't take pills no more and suddenly my life's all rainbows and shit? Fuck off!" He wished it was that simple.

Ryan sat quiet for a second, a very long second. He was usually calmer than Marshall, his fuse not as short. "I am your friend", he replied. "That's why I don't like that you're still in therapy, that it's still this bad for you."

"Fuck off", he repeated but his tone came down to normal. Ryan's calm temper usually made him calmer, too. One of the many things he liked about his friend. Now he threw his hands in the air in frustration. "What you want from me?"

"An honest answer." Honesty again, that must be a plot or something.

Why was everyone bashing on him lately? _Because you have a face that begs to be punched. You got the face of a slut - and the pussy, too._ This wasn't normal. He needed a vacation from himself. He groaned. "Fine, honest answer, whatever. I'm fine. That honest enough for you? I'm fine."

Ryan stared silently at him.

He sighed. "Aight … I'm mostly fine. It's just … It's complicated, you know. Being sober ain't a problem, ain't been a problem since the very beginning, but … I got other problems to fix. I mean, ain't like my life wasn't fucked up before I got into pills." He tried a weak smile, then shrugged. "It ain't bad … just complicated." _It's pretty bad, little gay looking boy._ He rubbed his neck, because he didn't know what else to do with his hands.

"True that. You're pretty much a magnet for drama."

They shared a smile.

"And yeah, I wrote some lines to your beat", Ryan finally answered his change of subject.


	9. It's One of Those Kinda Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His friends want to go out tonight, but Marshall doesn't. So he goes, naturally. It might've been fun even, if he didn't end up having sex and meeting someone he shouldn't.

"Hey guys, wanna go out tonight? There's a new club open." Denaun looked up from his phone to the rest of the guys, who sat around the studio.

Marshall was writing on his notepad. "Nah, I'm good." This time he was actually working on a song. He hummed the melody quietly, while he scribbled down the rhymes. He had started writing about a kiss and _You got your dick hard fantasizing about the fucker kissing you like you're his girlfriend!_ and he was now filling in some lines on how to badly pick up a chick.

"You should get out of the house more often. Maybe pick up a girl or something", Denaun suggested. "It's a fine club, I tell ya."

"What are you, my mom?" He looked up at him. "I'm going out of the house plenty, thanks for asking."

"The studio doesn't count", Ryan interjected.

"Not what I meant." He arched his eyebrows as he saw the skeptical and surprised looks on his friends' faces. "Don't ya'll give me that look, too. Why is it so unbelievable that I might go out and, I don't know, mingle with people? Ya'll acting like I'm a hermit or some shit."

Ryan cleared his throat. "Well, you kinda are."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Do I need your permission if I wanna get laid, or what now? It's bad enough that my daughters want me to bring home my girlfriend. Don't you guys even start with this shit."

"You have a girlfriend?", Denaun asked even more surprised. "Since when?"

"No, I don't." _You wish! You're just a lame booty call, bitch._ "That's the problem. Look, can we not talk about this? I already sense a headache comin'." He turned back to his notes and was silently mouthing the lines he had already written.

"Even more reason to come to the club with us." Denaun insisted. "Come on, it's gonna be fun."

Marshall certainly didn't think so.

"He's right. How else you gonna find a girlfriend to show off to your kids?" He was almost sure, Ryan was joking.

He sighed. Couldn't they let it slide? Friends, almost as bad as his daughters. "I don't want a girlfriend. It's just sex, no need to get all chummy and shit." Also, Nicolas didn't seem to be the sociable type himself. Not that he wanted anything like that! _Yeah, right, what's one more lie, fag._

"That's why you don't have a girl. They like guys with some basic social skills."

He snorted with a bitter tone. "That ain't the reason, believe me."

"What does that mean?", Ryan asked.

"Nothin'." He could feel Ryans eyes burn into his skull. He raised his eyes from his notepad and met the gaze. That he shouldn't have done. "My social skills are fine. I'm just not build for women." _You comin' out?_ Shit! He had to play it off. "You know, I ain't havin' luck with 'em. It's easier this way." That was so bleak, it could actually work.

Ryan still looked at him. "One of those things your therapist is working on?"

"You have no idea."

"I still can't believe, you're clubbing without us." Denaun was one of those people, who actually liked going out, dancing in clubs and meeting new people. Marshall had no idea how anyone could like that, but here his friend was.

"I ain't. There's an app for that now." Did he needed to say that? He kind of felt like he was close on the edge of tripping over his own words. He almost did there already, it's gonna happen again. _Bitches never shut up._ He turned to his notepad again.

Denaun shook his head. "You're on a dating app? That's desperate."

"You don't know the half of it." Can his mouth shut up just for once! Think fast, defuse, defuse, defuse. "Then my fuckin' phone beeps and now Hailie thinks I have a girlfriend. You know, all hopeful and excited for me. Awful, I tell you. It's not like I can tell her, her dad's just in it for a quick fuck. I ain't teaching her that, no way."

"That sounds rough."

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Why were they still talking about this? How did they even get here? An invitation to a fun night out and somehow he ran off his mouth about his hook-ups, almost saying the truth. He didn't want to lie to his friends. _You're lying to yourself, fag, that's worse._ He had to get out of this situation. "Aight, fine. Let's go out tonight. Whatever, man." Pen in hand, he turned back to his notepad and didn't look his friends in the face again, not for hours.

* * *

_Bastard_. That was the name of the new club. When they entered, Marshall was a little surprised. The interior was lit by ambient light and had a classic design, colors muted but nice and relaxing. The music was laid back, melodic and didn't damage your ears. Hell, you could even understand people talking to you. There was a little stage and a singer in a tight dress sang into a microphone with a smooth voice. But Marshall was sure most men in here just stared at her huge breasts.

The six of them found a corner to sit down. The bench cushions were soft and easy to sink into. They really wanted their customers to feel comfortable.

"It's rather quiet in here", Marshall voiced his surprise. When Denaun had announced their night out, he had expected a hip hop club close to having a rave: loud, sweaty, breathless.

Denaun winked at him. "But the girls aren't."

What was that supposed to mean? Marshall decided, he didn't care. Maybe sitting here and having some fun with his friends wasn't a bad idea after all.

A young man in a suit came to them to take their orders. Marshall wanted a coke. Well, since he didn't drink anymore, that was about all that was left for him to drink. His eyes followed the young man back to the bar. _You wanna cheat on your boo now?_ They'd spend like two nights with each other, they're weren't nobody's boo.

"So, which girl you wanna have? There's free choosing here", Denaun said and elbowed him in the side. "And they're all really fine. Haven't seen an ugly chick in here yet."

"Uh-huh", he mumbled and let his gaze scan the club. Denaun wasn't wrong, most women had tight dresses that highlighted their slim waists, perky breasts and firm butts. They swivelled their hips invitingly. This seemed like easy pickings.

It didn't take long until a couple of girls sat between the guys, smiling and flirting. A petite blonde caressed Marshall's thigh with her long, slim fingers. Her pouty lips smiled at him and her long lashes were a seductive frame for her honey brown eyes. She leaned forward to his ear, her perky chest pressing against his. "Wanna get out of here?" she asked.

How could he say no? There had to be reason he couldn't go with her. Something he could say, that was believable but not suspicious. _You can't get it up, that's a good reason._ But his friends knew he was up for some hook-ups and this was a pretty fine one. There wasn't much a guy could say to turn her down and not look suspicious. He sighed quietly. "Sure, let's get out of here."

She kissed his cheek. As she stood up, she took his hand and led him from the couch.

One of his friends whistled after them.

As they went through the night club, he laid an arm around her waist and she nestled up against his side. She gently nudged him in a direction, apparently she knew a place to go.

At the far end of the club there was a staircase. Against the handrail leaned a short man and Marshall's stomach fluttered. When they were close enough, he realized why. "Nicolas." He stopped dead in his tracks in front of him.

The girl looked up. "You two know each other?"

Nicolas eyed him closely, like he always did, and the sides of his mouth curled into a faint but mean smirk. A short nod.

This was the club Nicolas worked at? That explained his fancy outfit for a security guard. Everything else would look too much out of place in here. "You work here?" Stupid question. However, it was the first time he saw Nicolas fully clothed. He looked rather short in the suit, his muscles hidden underneath the black blazer. It didn't fit his expression at all. There was no elegance or class attached to the suit, the hard-bitten stare only highlighted that this was a job.

The girl walked up the first few steps, still holding Marshall's hand. But he didn't move.

Nicolas nodded his head in her direction, a short hand gesture too. Obviously an invitation for Marshall to go up with her. No, the hard look in his eyes turned it into an order.

Marshall swallowed hard. His feet climbed the stairs on their own and only the fact that he walked away made him break the stare eventually.

Then he was in a small room, alone with the girl. A big bed stood in the cozy light. The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She pressed her slim, curved body against his and whispered in his ear: "Let me scan your card and you make yourself comfortable on the bed." She kissed his neck.

He nodded his head and fumbled the card out of his pocket. The golden lines of the _Bastard_ logo got caught in the dim light. She took the card and gave him another seductive smile.

He let her deal with the paying process and went to the bed. The sheets were black with golden lines, a faintly floral pattern. He fell down on his back, arms outstretched and his eyes stared at the ceiling. This was Nicolas's club!

The petite blonde came back to him, tucked the card back into his pocket and used the proximity to stroke his thigh again, teasing his crotch. She kissed him again and her hands found her way under his t-shirt. It didn't take long until she grinded her hips into his.

The memory of Nicolas's stare made him hard. _There's a blond bomb on your dick, fuckin' fag!_ He pulled her dress up, until he could grab her ass, tight and small. Nicolas's was hotter. He moaned quietly as her fingers massaged his dick, long, slim fingers that gently stroked him. Though, he wished for Nicolas's strong grip that sometimes almost hurt. "Harder", he sighed into her neck. The blonde hair was in the way.

She obliged and tightened her fingers around him, squeezing the hard flesh.

He groaned and dug his nails into her ass. Her skin was soft and smooth, no scars at all.

The condom was put on quickly and she started riding him. Her hips moved sensually, rocked in erotic circles and her breasts quivered in the same rhythm. _Damn! Bury your face in these sweet hills, those are some A grade tits. _As if he cared. He pushed her onto the bed, shoved her face first into the sheets and his dick back into her. He frame was small and delicate, the bumps of her spine showed. Not at all like Nicolas's back, who seemed like a rock, despite his small stature. He grabbed her butt cheeks again and pushed himself into her hard and fast.

He was missing something.

With a short tug he pulled her up, her back against his chest. Next to her ear he whispered: "Can you grab my ass?" He felt the heat of a blush on his face. _You're such a damn fag, this pussy's too good for you. _"Like, with force."

She laid her head back against his shoulder and kissed his neck. Then she reached back around him and squeezed hard. Her nails dug into his cheeks.

He groaned pleased. Much better.

After a couple more thrusts, he came. Not really satisfied. Then he sat back on the bed, discarding the condom and getting his pants back in order.

She did the same thing with her dress, still a warm smile on her face when she looked up at him. "Do you wanna go for a dance?"

"I don't dance." He turned to the door. "I find the way back myself." Then he left the room. The hall was dark, just a few points of light let you assume where the walls were. Some doors had a strip of light escaping underneath them. _You really are an asshole. She was nothing but friendly to you._ She's a hooker, it's not like she had much of a choice. She got her money, that's all the friendliness she could expect. He hurried down the corridor. Halfway down the stairs he slowed down his steps.

Nicolas still stood at the feet of the stairs. He looked up, as Marshall came down. He shortly pointed with his chin upwards, the direction of the room.

Marshall came to a halt on the last step and looked down on him. He shrugged as an answer. The sex with Nicolas was better and he was pretty sure, Nicolas already knew that. His fingers trembled, he badly wanted to run his hands through that spiky black hair. To contain himself, he clenched his fists.

Nicolas gestured to his wristwatch and cocked an eyebrow.

"Get together later?", Marshall asked. Did he read that right? Or was it just him wishing too much. A prickling sensation filled his limbs at the idea. He nodded before he realized it. With a shrug he tried to play it more cool. "Why not. The guys usually take long before they call it a night."

Another short gesture of Nicolas's hands, Marshall interpreted as or wished them to be _I'm coming by later. _Sounded like a good plan to him. So Marshall went back to his friends.

"Hey, there he is", Von greeted him.

Ryan gave him a grin. "Looks like his night's fun already."

As Marshall sat down, he fought down the smile. But good probably that his friends thought he smiled because of the hooker. That was wrong but tolerable. "Was aight", he mumbled and took a sip from his coke. He couldn't wait for the night to be over and for Nicolas to come by. A glance at his watch told him, that'll be a while.

* * *

Another glance at his watch. He should've asked when Nicolas got off, now he was waiting for an uncertain time called 'later'. Possibly he had to wait until the club closed. He was sick of waiting.

But his friends still had fun, especially with the girls and the booze. That took their mind off of time and so they had spent already more than four hours here.

A tap on his shoulder. Marshall broke his stare away from the coke and looked up. "Nicolas!" Finally! Again he had to fight the smile, that was growing on his lips.

Nicolas slipped next to him on the couch.

"You know this guy?", Ryan asked.

Marshall had a hard time not looking at Nicolas. He so badly wanted to run his fingers through that spiky warm hair. But he managed somehow and answered: "Uhm, yeah, he's a security guard here."

Without so much as a blink Nicolas took Marshall's glass and drank it empty. Marshall didn't mind, actually he barely noticed. But Ryan did, a brief frown was on his face.

"You finished work?", Marshall asked. Could they get out of here? He couldn't stand the prickling anticipation in his blood anymore, but he knew Nicolas's intense hands could remedy that. After they made it so sweetly worse.

But Nicolas shook his head.

Marshall sighed disappointed. Then he breathed in sharply, as he felt Nicolas's hand on his thigh. Not gently caressing but forcefully grabbing his leg. The hand stroked it's way to his crotch and kneaded his dick through the jeans, rough and hard. _You're fantasizing again, homo! What's wrong with you? _Marshall shifted in his seat. Wrong place, wrong time. Nervous he looked around his friends, but they didn't seem to notice. They barely payed any attention to Marshall at all.

Nicolas gave him a smirk. He had noticed. With a short wink, he called the waiter to the table. Some hand signs later the young man nodded: "Will be right here." Not long after he came back with a tray and two drinks. One was a clear liquid in a tall glas with ice cubes and a shard of lemon - put in front of Nicolas. The other drink was bright red with a slice of strawberry - put in front of Marshall.

"I didn't order that." He looked at Nicolas, who feigned uninvolvement and disinterest. What was that about? Marshall looked back to the waiter. "I don't drink."

The waiter smiled kindly. "No need to worry, sir, there's no alcohol in there. Just soda and juice." Then he left. Marshall was still slightly confused.

Nicolas briefly raised his glass to him and took a sip.

With a mental shrug, Marshall did the same. The drink wasn't as sweet as he had expected. A distinctly bitter taste was mixed between the flavors of cherry and strawberry. Actually, it wasn't too bad. "So, you're on break?" Why did he always ask stupid questions? Obviously Nicolas was on a break. If he would blow off his job for Marshall so easily, he probably would've done so back when they had met at the stairs. "Do you always take drinks with your guests?" Maybe he should take a class in how to make easy conversations with your fling, because this really wasn't. _You sound like a jealous bitch and you have the drink of one, too. He knows you quite well already. _This was terrible. Also, fling? Delete that.

"What's that?", asked Denaun and pointed to Marshall's drink.

Fuck, his friends were still here. "A cocktail, obviously." A fruit cocktail. Oh, the irony.

"Really?", the skeptical tone was plain.

Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. "So what? I got tired of coke." Fuck, they knew! He was busted, so fucking busted! What should he fucking do now? _Calm the fuck down! It's a girly drink, not a penis necklace._ Maybe his excuse was enough? Or he could say, Nicolas made a joke? But then he probably had to explain how they knew each other and why he was ordering him a drink. Way too risky. A diversion was needed. "Want a mouthful?", he offered to Denaun, holding out his glass.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Suit yourself." He took another sip as nonchalantly as he could.

Nicolas leaned back in his seat, putting an arm on the back rest. Marshall kind of felt like the girl at the movies, where the guy wasn't gutsy enough to actually put an arm around her shoulders. _Told you!_ Which would be the worst idea ever right now! Marshall shuffled to the side a little, just in case. With the other hand Nicolas gestured something.

"What?" He didn't know sign language, Nicolas knew that. How would he anyway? Where did you go to learn that? … Not a bad thought._ You have to be fucking kiddin' me! You wanna learn a new language for a fuckin' hook-up?_ That would make talking a lot easier. _Bitch, please!_

Nicolas rolled his eyes. "Fun?" Were they back to one word sentences?

"Here? Now? Sure, kinda." Marshall shrugged. "I mean, it's quite a relaxing ambience you got going on here. Not my style, but nice."

Nicolas cocked his head.

"I mean, you know, it's kinda classy and stuff. You're even wearing a suit. That ain't for me."

That smirk again. Damn. He shoved Nicolas's shoulder, because he didn't know what else to do. Or more precisely, what he actually wanted to do he really, really couldn't right now.

Before Marshall could answer anything, a woman stepped up to their table. It was the singer, still in her white dress that barely contained her breasts and revealed all of her cleavage. Long black hair fell onto her shoulders, smooth brown skin glowed in the ambient light and her blue eyes looked shy at Nicolas. While she spoke she moved her hands to sign as well. "I left my key … at the apartment. I'm sorry, I had to hurry and … I forgot. I'm really sorry."

Nicolas shook his head and with a stern expression he signed something back.

"I didn't mean to", she sighed. "It won't happen again. I promise!"

Nicolas reached into his pocket and gave her a key. He signed something again.

She nodded. "I won't. Thank you." She gave him a hug, her huge breast getting pressed against him. Then she left.

Marshall watched her walk away. "Who's that?" He turned to Nicolas: "You two live together?" Was she his girlfriend? If he had a girlfriend, why would he be on a dating app? Hooking up with guys nonetheless? _Maybe he's as much a closeted case as you are?_ And she could sign, too.

Nicolas made a dismissive gesture.

"Damn, man, that's one fly chick. How did you pick her up?", Denaun asked curiously. "Or is she one of the _Bastard_'s girls? That'd be awesome."

An angry stare hit Denaun and his smile faded. Nicolas glared at him with furious intent.

Appeasingly Denaun held up his hands. "Aight, aight, I ain't tapping her. I don't touch girlfriends, aight."

Well, that sealed the deal. They're an item and a serious one at that. A wave of disappointment and unhappiness crushed over Marshall. _Maybe they're just siblings? Like in one of those stupid rom-coms you like so much._ That was a stupid idea. They didn't look like siblings at all. She seems to be half black, he seems to be Asian. How would that work out? _Adoption? Come on! He's just a stupid hook-up, what do you even fucking care?_ If Marshall knew.

Nicolas stood up from the couch. He tapped Marshall's shoulder again and winked.

"Later", he answered, but his enthusiasm was gone.

When Nicolas left their sight, Denaun asked: "Who was that?"

"A friend of Marshall's", Ryan answered. "Also a security guard here."

"You've been here before?", Denaun asked surprised. "Do I even know you anymore?"

Marshall shook his head. "No, I wasn't." Puzzled looks. "We met … at the gym?" That was believable, right? He worked out, Nicolas was a security guard and therefore had to be fit, too. _Sound logic, except, you haven't worked out at the gym in months._ Well, he had said it already, no use in taking it back now. He took another sip of his too red drink.

"He's … intense."

Marshall looked at Ryan honestly asking: "You think so?" He felt intense when Nicolas was around, but that wasn't the same thing. Or was it?

"He has a mean stare, that's for sure." Denaun rolled his shoulders. "That ain't a guy to fuck with. He's always this possessive with his girls?"

Marshall gave a shrug. "I don't know. He doesn't exactly talk much, you know, being deaf and all." Also, hooking up two times didn't give you much chance to tell your life's story. Usually there wasn't much interest in that anyway. "I didn't know he had a girl, so." Not that he should volunteer his interest in whether or not Nicolas had a girlfriend. Hopefully he's voice didn't sound as down as he felt at this moment. Another diversion was in order. "But in a place like this, there's probably not much else he can do, right."

"Guess so", Denaun gave in.

"But he can be pretty mean, whether it's about his girl or not", Marshall went on. "He likes teasing people a lot. I don't think, his stare was meant as evil as it looked." _That's because you're in love with him, slut._ "Just a warning, you know. I wouldn't want to fight him, though, like a serious fight or anything. He might be small, but he's pretty packed and full with scars, he must get into fights a lot. Pretty sure, he has a mean hook." _You're rambling, fag, shut up! _Marshall bit his lip.

"Right", Ryan said flatly.


	10. He's Love-Stricken, He's Got His Jaw Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's motel night again and Marshall's excited at first. But it's different this time, hard and cold and ... weird. Why does he let Nicolas do this with him?  
Then, they fight.

A beep, his phone had something to say. Lazily he blinked at it, the couch was too comfortable right now. He jerked up. There was a notification from the dating app, a message from Benriya - Nicolas! wanna cum tonite

That line again, really? Even in writing he wasn't much of a talker. He probably should be glad he even got so many words and not just some stupid emoji. _Are that butterflies in your stomach, little gay looking boy?_ He was already on his way up the stairs and slipped into his bedroom. He couldn't go out in his couch sweats, he needed a real outfit. _How about a nice dress with some cleavage? A little slutty, that's your look._ First thing he chose were his sneakers: soft green with some gray accents. Casual and likeable, perfect. Black pants fit to everything, a gray shirt with a pattern of straight green lines across it. The image in the mirror said: Hi there, wanna hang out? Low-key, not overly sexy. _You mean boring. It's a hook-up, get your tits out - or ass, that's what your both into._ Involuntarily he looked at his butt. The jeans did a decent job there.

Sitting in his car, his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. Again, he was driving himself. He so could imagine Big Eight's look of reproach, if he had to drive him to another one-night stand. _Three-night stand. Has he your head spinning so hard you can't even count to three anymore? Girl, you're gone._ Not something he needed right now. It wasn't Big Eight's business how Marshall got laid, no interference needed.

As he saw the big red sign of the motel at the side of the road, his heart fluttered. Why was he so fucking nervous? Nicolas had a stupid girlfriend. Not, that he wanted anything to do with that anyway. _Keep telling yourself that._ This was a hook-up, just a fucking hook-up, only a pitiful hook-up.

There was light in room 101 like usual. Marshall closed the door of his car and once again his hand shook, when he reached for the door knob of the motel room. He clenched his teeth. This was ridiculous! _You take the words right out of my fucking mouth, fag._ How often had he done this now? This was nothing special.

He stepped into the room. The wooden panels and the red colors greeted him, and so did Nicolas's stare. He leaned against the small table, arms folded across the chest and he was still fully clothed. A black T-Shirt and camouflage pants. That was weird.

"Sup", Marshall greeted but didn't expect an answer. There was a heavy atmosphere in the room. Something was different and he didn't know what. Was he about to get some warning to not say nothing about their fling to the girlfriend? Not needed, he had no interest in ever seeing her again.

Nicolas cocked his head. His eyes examined Marshall closely, slowly going down along his body, piercing through the clothes. Somehow, he felt naked already. He shifted his stance. Finally the thin lips parted ever so slightly to let one syllable escape in that husky voice that made Marshall quiver. "Strip."

"What?", he asked confused. Why would he do that?

But Nicolas just kept staring at him intensely.

"Uhm ... aight", he whispered. Any loud noise seemed like an assault in the tense air. He took his jacket off, pulled the shirt over his head and slipped out of his shoes. The pants slit down his legs and now he wasn't so sure to let his briefs go as well. A look at Nicolas made it crystal clear: they had to go. His fingers trembled slightly, as he pulled them down.

Well, he was absolutely naked. Not the first time in front of the other man but somehow different now. He felt ... awkward, uneasy ... vulnerable even. Not a feeling he relished in, nope. "Y-yo", he cleared his throat, "you wanna fuck now or what?"

The grin on Nicolas's lips was pure evil with a hint of pleasure.

Marshall had to swallow hard. "Know what, forget it." He grabbed for his pants to put them back on.

"Come 'ere." The tone didn't allow for any resistance. Marshall's legs moved on their own and took the two steps to stand in front of him.

With his index finger Nicolas pointed to the ground and Marshall sank to his knees. But his eyes stayed locked with Nicolas's harsh glare. What was going on? _I know, you get your gay baptism. Hallelujah!_

Nicolas slowly nodded, as if he had heard Marshall's thoughts. Hope to God he didn't!

Marshall shook his head slightly. "No, I ain't doin' that." His voice barely more than a whisper. This was bad, really bad. Why couldn't he bring himself to move? He should get out of here, immediately.

It took so much effort to break his gaze away from the black eyes, that burned down his soul. But as he looked to what was in front of him, Nicolas's fly, a shiver ran through his body. _Come on, faggot, that's what you've been dreaming about. Suck it, slut._ There was still a tremble in his hands as he zipped the pants open and tugged them down just a bit to reveal Nicolas's underwear. He could feel the soft fabric under his fingertips and the warmth radiating from the flesh underneath. Why was Nicolas always so hot? He gently stroked the body, the fabric was so thin he could feel the coarse hair through it. His hands moved along the limp shaft.

Marshall bit his lip. He had to make it hard first, too? How was he supposed to do that? He took in a deep breath, Nicolas's scent was all over his nostrils. Concentration, that's what he needed right now. He had a dick himself, he had had sex with guys before and they all gotten hard, he had gotten plenty of blowjobs, too. He knew how this worked. _Yeah, and don't forget your porn fantasies, you're a pro in them already._ Concentration. Overthinking this wouldn't be of help. Just, no thoughts, no worries. Go with the flow, wasn't that a thing?

Another deep breath. His hand stroked over the cock with more purpose. The warmth prickled in his fingertips and rushed under his skin. He put more pressure into the touch and could actually feel the cock growing, getting hard under his hands. Because of his hands. _Don't feel so fuckin' proud of yourself, that's what all dicks do when you touch them._ Delight was biting Marshall's lip. He didn't want it to. Why was he so fucking weird? It should not turn him on to make another man's dick hard. That was just ... _Gay? No shit, Sherlock._

He looked up again, right into Nicolas's stare, the black eyes settled on Marshall. He swallowed hard again. He felt fucking helpless. He couldn't move, even though he should. He couldn't flip off this mean grin, even though he flipped off everyone else. He wasn't shouting in anger, even though that was his go to move for every situation. He just felt stranded, insecure, out of control. And his dick answered by getting hard.

Nicolas pointed down again. A sharp move of his finger.

Marshall released the other's cock from its tightening space of underwear. His fingertips stroked the length of it, his thumb kneaded the flesh along its underside. It was so hot in his hands and it made him hot, too. That was already bad enough. Okay, fine, he liked holding other men's dicks. Wasn't that gay enough? Couldn't it just stop here? He gripped harder and heard a low, pleasured sigh. Again, Marshall bit his lip in delight. Also again, he felt bad because of it, because he liked the sound he caused - and how he caused it. His heart fluttered once more. He wanted to hear that sound again, he wanted Nicolas to enjoy ... him?_ O honey, you gonna get your heart broken again._ Ignoring his thoughts, Marshall lowered his lips on the cock standing in front of his face. A soft kiss first, nervousness shivered over his body. He had to do this right. Another deep breath. Then he licked alongside the cock, still stroking it with his fingers, kneading the hard flesh. The taste was ... Marshall liked it.

He licked more, sucked at the skin and got more bold with each new flick of his tongue, with each new moan coming from above. When he took the cock between his lips, sucking the tip into his mouth, Marshall didn't even pause anymore. He needed to do this right, no second guessing himself would help. He felt the rush of blood - his or Nicolas's? Regardless, it drove him further on. Getting his lips around the hard flesh, sucking it deep into his mouth. He could hardly breath, but that didn't matter. Nicolas's moaning and groaning filled his ears, telling him he was on the right track, that Nicolas liked what he was doing. Liked him.

Nicolas's strong hand petted his head. Then he pulled Marshall away as he came, spurting it out on Marshall's face.

He flinched. Panting hard, he looked up again.

"Good boy."

His ears tingled and his heart fluttered at the praise. _What are you, a dog?_ Nicolas had liked the blowjob. ... He really just sucked a man off. He'd had a fucking dick in his mouth. And liked it! He was so wrong. He was so hard.

Nicolas petted Marshall's head again, then he zipped his pants back up. The sound of the zipper teared through the heavy air.

Marshall's body shivered. Suddenly, he felt cold and exposed. Gruff he wiped across his face, sticky cum on his fingers. He growled angrily about himself and stood up.

"Next time, don't leave."

He looked confused to Nicolas. "What?" He reached for his pants and put them on. His own hard-on could go fuck itself.

"Club. You left."

"That was a fuckin' week ago", he yelled at him. "What has that anything to do with now? That's no fucking reason to put me down like this!" As the words left his mouth, he felt eerily hollow inside. He ran his hand over his face again, this time in an effort to control the tears that burnt the insides of his eyes. They should just evaporate. He felt like shit, a worthless piece of shit. And he wasn't! _Well, wouldn't say that exactly ... But he has no fucking right to degrade you! You ain't his toy to abuse, you're fucking mine! _Another angry growl. "Fuck you!" He put his shirt back on and still felt bare.

"Look at the big bad rapper now." Nicolas's smirk was still there and still driving Marshall crazy. He had to fucking loose this grin, now! His fist connected with Nicolas's chin, before Marshall realized he threw the punch. _Go bitch, take this motherfucker down!_ But he loved that he drew blood from the thin lips. That's what he called satisfaction.


	11. … Want to Be Alone in the Darkness …

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fistfight with Nicolas, Marshall's lying in his bed and is so fucking over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Reformation Day and to celebrate, here's a little something in which Marshall doesn't reform himself.

The ceiling looked down on him disapprovingly.

Marshall flipped it off. A sigh. He had a déjà-vu. His life sucked, hard. _So do you, apparently._ What the fuck was wrong with him? _You're gay_. Why the fuck did he do that? _Because you're gay._ What the fuck had just happened? _Your gayness. Is that even a word?_ Why the fuck was this happening to him? _Because you're gay! Is anyone fucking listening to me?_ The hell!

He burrowed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wasn't going to cry himself to sleep over this. He wasn't! Not tonight! The deaf shit wasn't worth any of this. He was just another asshole, a one-night stand not worth remembering. Just one bad fling of so many, Marshall wouldn't remember him for long. There was no need to get all worked up over this. What was one more forgotten face? Didn't add much to the whole shitty pile at this point.

He was angry at himself for falling for this son of a bitch. Of course he knew, what it meant when your heart fluttered at someone's attention and why it had sunken when he had seen the girlfriend. He wasn't stupid, just stubborn. And it seemed like he also was still blue-eyed enough to fall for some random guy practically at first sight. _You're a romantic girl, always looking for true love. It's sickeningly sweet._ That was just dumb. He should know better by now. People didn't just like him, they always had some ulterior motives. He knew that, that's why he had trust issues.

Apparently some people still fell through the cracks.

On top of that he had broken both of his rules for this shithead. And he had liked it ... He couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore. Again. This was awful. How could he like something like this? _Because you're gay. I sound like a broken record._ That wasn't right. He should be with girls. It had worked just fine in the club the other night. _That was horrible! Have pity on the poor hooker._ It had worked just fine so far in his life._ Yeah, ask Kim about that. She'll tell you a different story._ Why did he need to change that now? Don't fix, what ain't broke. _But you are! Look at yourself, man, you're crying again. Just get over it already._ He pulled the sheets over his head.

This gay thing was over!

_You're killing yourself._


	12. Intervene Between Me and This Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Nicolas made him so rudely do a blowjob, Marshall goes to the studio to get his emotions under control but fails. In the evening he goes to the gym to beat his emotions into control but fails.

His voice was raw, but he was still screaming into the microphone. "Say I’m a sissy faggot, record it, play it back and put it on straight loop, you haters look like you ate a grape fruit to see me climbing back on that wagon, got my swagger back. I was dragging, hopped back on it, grab the reigns on that bastard and came back on 'em without remorse man. Man, of course, I’m a one-trick pony 'cause I’ll be screaming on these whores 'til I’m hoarse!" His heart was racing and his lungs hurt, but screaming his anger out, spewing savage words into the microphone was relief. Rather his anger was heard than his dejection felt.

"You're on fire today", Denaun nodded to the beat, replaying what Marshall just had recorded.

He drank from a bottle of water, not up for conversation today. His jaw hurt where Nicolas's had punched him back and rapping nonstop since early this morning didn't help. This was well deserved. For being this dumb to actually fall for this guy, to actually try to be gay, he deserved to be punished. Stupidity like this shouldn't be allowed to exist. Period.

Ryan asked: "What happened to your face?"

He just waved dismissively.

Ryan's prying eyes stayed and burned Marshall's bruise even more. He shortly stroked over his discolored jaw, as if this could make it invisible. Of course it couldn't. "Quit starin'", he grumbled.

The eyes didn't waver. A shiver ran down Marshall's spine. Those ink-black eyes always broke the truth out of him. They did so back in the day and they did so now. He bit his lip, he absolutely could not say the truth. Ryan couldn't know, that Marshall was like this. Not again. _He already does, dumbass._ He couldn't be disgusted with him, couldn't leave him. Not again.

"Fine, I got in a fight. Happy now?", Marshall said exasperated. _You could've said, it's from boxing._ That would have been the shorter conversation. Thinking his words over first wasn't his strong suit. Never had been. But how could he lie, if Ryan looked at him like this? _Pussy._

"Really?", Ryan sounded genuinely surprised and exchanged a look with Denaun. "I thought you had better control over your temper now. With the therapy and all."

Marshall scowled. "Obviously, I don't."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ryan shrugged. "You're on edge lately."

"So what? Am I not allowed to be in a bad mood?" A frown grew on Marshall's face.

"That's not what I meant", Ryan shook his head. "Is something goin' on?"

"I'm fine!", Marshall huffed irritated.

Denaun spun in his chair to face the both of them. "Oh sure, everything's peachy. That's why you're screaming your lungs out. You're totally fine."

"Just shut it", he growled. _You should've said the boxing thing, stupid_. _"_You was just all hyped about me screaming. Don't go back on that now."

"I don't. The music's great, but ..."

Marshall growled low and stared at Denaun, he put a lot of effort into that mean glare.

Denaun held the stare. "But if that's on the expense of your well-being, then, well ... You were adamant about that not happening again. Just sayin'."

"Well, don't!", Marshall snapped at him.

Ryan cocked his head. "Perhaps your therapist should give you some more homework."

"I'm done with that." Marshall put his bottle of water down on the table and left the room. He needed fresh air. And fresh friends.

* * *

His fist hit the leather. The punching bag swung through the air. He hit it again. And again. And again. Rapidly hitting the bag, sharp noises came from the tormented leather. Dull pain spread through the bones of his fingers. Sweat dripped from his nose. Breath shallow, fast.

"If you rip that, you clean it up." A gruff voice, raspy and old.

Marshall stepped to the side and looked behind the swinging bag. "Coach", he greeted in a respectful tone. Everyone called the old owner Coach, even though he wasn't coaching anyone anymore. He wiped his forehead with his wrist, but that didn't do much. It was more a gesture of restlessness.

The old man looked him over, a sharp wit to his eyes. His body might be frail due to age, but his mind clearly wasn't. "I've seen many young men like you. Does beatin' up an ol' sack of sand help ya?"

Marshall sighed. Not again. Why did everybody want to share their crappy pieces of advice with him? Did he look that dumb? _You're desperate, don't deny that._ He wasn't denying anything! _Right, little gay looking boy, you're all open and accepting, that's why you cry yourself to sleep._ If he wanted to be talking about this, he would've gone to his therapist. "I'm fine. Just needed some work out."

"Never heard that before", the old man snorted with derision.

Marshall grabbed his towel and wiped some of the sweat from his face. "Sorry, I stayed too long. I better be going."

"No hurry. An old man like me hasn't got to be anywhere." He shuffled to one of the benches and beckoned Marshall to follow.

They sat on the bench, silence spread between them. First it was just a thin string of quiet, just their breathing audible. But it disappeared into the background, as the silence widened and engulfed their whole bodies. Not for long and the silence reached every corner of the small, dark lit room.

Marshall fidgeted with the corner of his towel. His mind was racing through his head, hard at work to not pause at anything in particular. Because everything would give him away. All his thoughts were too loud, they must've been like two-hundred decibel. A clamor of voices he didn't recognize anymore. _You're gay, fag! - You're sick, no pill can fix that! - Bleed, bitch, bleed! - You're a liar! - You don't deserve love! - You're just bitchy because he wouldn't let you swallow his cum! - DeShaun is disgusted with you! - You're still dreaming about his dick in your pussy! - Ronnie wanted you dead! - You're a cheater, filthy slut! - Little gay looking boy! - Your daughters hate you! - Bleed, bitch, bleed! - You're ugly! - You're useless! - Psychos like you shouldn't have kids! - You have no right to rap! - You die alone! - No one loves you! - You're gay._

"I'm not fine." His voice was just a whisper. He could barely hear it over the shouting in his ears. But every syllable liftet some of the burden that weighed heavy on his heart. It somehow felt good to tell the truth, just once, even to someone he didn't know and wouldn't be able to help. He could breathe for once without the chains of his own mind strangling his throat. It was hard to admit anything about yourself, but he was not fine and he was tired of lying about it.

The gruffy, old voice cut through the noise of his thoughts like they were gelatin. "You don't have to be."

Marshall shook his head weakly.

The old coach went on: "No one's fine. We're all just trying to do our best every day and sometimes a punch in the gut knocks us out. But we stand back up again. That's all we can really do."

"I just want it to be over", he admitted in this low voice, that sounded so much like defeat. A feeling he hated. A feeling he felt too often.

The old man was silent again. He looked across the room, the tiny gym he owned and barely anyone used. It was too small and too hidden and too old for most people these days. That was exactly why Marshall liked it.

Then the old man spoke again: "There's only one way for it all to be over ... and that's not your choice to make."


	13. I Just Want You To Be Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall sits in his therapist's office, brooding about how he shouldn't like Nicolas and why he can't be a normal person.

"You've been silently brooding for the last twenty minutes." His therapist spoke quietly, but it sounded harsh in the silence of the room.

Marshall looked up. "Sorry." His thumb still stroked his right wrist, stroked the tattooed words and the scars underneath like he had done for the past, well, twenty minutes.

She smiled kindly. "Do you want to fill me in on your thoughts? Perhaps you could use a different perspective on whatever it is that's troubling you today."

He sighed heavily. "It's the same thing that's always troubling me."

"I assumed as much. But it doesn't seem like your brooding gets you anywhere for now, maybe a fresh perspective can help. So, what exactly is troubling you?"

"I know your perspective." Not one he was keen on.

She continued to smile kindly at him.

Another heavy sigh. "I'm not fine", he admitted to her. Saying this now was different from the other night at the gym. Her he knew and more importantly she knew him. That made everything different. It felt even more like defeat.

"That's okay. No one can be fine all the time. Sometimes life just hurts and we feel weak and everything seems like it's going to be bad forever. That's normal. Don't force yourself to be something you aren't. When you're not fine, you're not fine. That's okay."

He shook his head slightly. "Maybe. Lately I've been ... ever since ... I mean", he took a deep breath. Just because he should be talking about this and he should get a grip on this, didn't mean saying these words out loud was easy. It very much wasn't. What did she always say, when he couldn't get the words out? Start small and work through to the big things. "You remember the guy I told you about? With the tattoo on his shoulder blades?"

She nodded silently, not to interrupt his story.

"Then you remember, that he broke my rule ... or I let him break it, I don't know. Whatever. That night, I ... I cried myself to sleep. And I have been ever since." He bit his lip. "And last week, he broke another rule ... and ... and ... It takes everything I have to not write him back and see him again." Even though he was angry at Nicolas and that asshole should go to hell, he still felt a hot rush in his blood whenever he thought back to the few nights they've had. _Getting ordered into a blowjob really turns you, hu. You kinky, girl!_ He shouldn't want that son of a bitch. Didn't he deserve better? "What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you", she said with her soft voice. "You like what you like. If you like to be with another man, then why would that be wrong? As far as I know, you don't really believe the homophobic rhetoric your lyrics sometimes reproduce. Or do you?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't. It doesn't matter what people like in bed or whatever. Either you're a good person or you're not, who you like doesn't matter for that. It's just ... I don't know ... It's different, when it's me?"

"Why would it be different when it's you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just feels different."

"How does it feel to you?", she pressed.

"I ..." How could he say that? _Just say it: you're calling yourself a girl in your head, a slut, fag, bitch, homo and you looove sucking dick._ He didn't want to put it into words, to make it even more real. _It's already pretty real. Ask your ass, it's still pining for that sweet dick of your boo. _Even if she was a therapist and trained in understanding sick people like him, this was just too much. "It's ... Like, it's not something I would - I should do, you know. I shouldn't do stuff like this, I shouldn't be like this. That's not ... that's not who I should be."

"Who should you be then?"

"A good man?", he suggested.

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him questioningly. "And being homosexual is going against that? Is it going against being good or against being a man?"

"Kinda both, I think."

She nodded thoughtfully. "How is being homosexual a bad thing? It might not be the predominant way to form a partnership, but unusual is not the same thing as bad. Right? Your life took a couple of unusual turns throughout the years, but that doesn't mean all of it was bad."

He weighed his head. "But a whole lot of it." Then he sighed. "I know, I know. I shouldn't be complaining. My life's all peachy and great."

"Well, if it was, you probably wouldn't be sitting here, hm?", one of her small jokes. "Every life has components to it we don't like. You are the only person who can truly say, if your life is peachy or not. And whether or not those unusual turns are at fault or not. But sometimes we focus too much on the bad side of things and forget all the good that happened too. Humans are wired like this and it can take a lot of effort to break through it."

His brain was especially good at picking out the bad stuff. "Hm, it's not all bad ... Like, I got to meet Dre, we're even friends, that's pretty awesome. And I can make music and support my family with that, that's more than a lot of musicians or rappers can say. Even if it's gotten out of hand sometimes."

She nodded encouragingly. "That's what I thought. Things might've been unusual at times, but whether they turn out good or bad is a different story and has more to do with us and how we act. So, why would being homosexual interfere with you being a good person?"

He shrugged.

"Well, what does being a good person mean to you?", she started suggesting. "I know you want to be a good father, so that's probably a big part of it. You once said, you would lose your daughters if they knew and you wouldn't want them to suffer because of this. Why would being homosexual make you a bad father?"

He shrugged again. "Ain't that obvious? I ain't much of a role model if I want to fuck another man's ass, am I?"

"That's my question for you. Why would that be a bad role model?" She looked at him curiously.

"Because that's not how things work. Guys don't fuck guys. Or get fucked, that's even worse. As a man I should be into girls, that's were it's at. That's normal. I want my daughters to have normal lives. I mean, I totally destroyed the relationship with Kim, I know that. They never had a normal, calm and easy family life. And that's my fault. Nothing was ever normal with me, I want them to do better. How can I show them a better life, when I'm this abnormal? I shouldn't like how some guy's dick feels in my hands. That should be disgusting to me, but it ain't, I like it. I don't know why, I just do." He shrugged his shoulders unsure with himself. "And I ... I like the rest, too. That's what's so unsettling about all of this. I really liked it, when we broke my rules. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't like it. But I do. I want to do it again. I don't even know many girls who like giving blowjobs. But I do, of course, I of all people do. Nothing can ever be normal with me. If you could see what's in my head, you'd be disgusted, believe me. I can't get him out of my head, how his dick tasted and the splash on my face. I even jerk off to that. How weird is that? Something's seriously wrong with me here, Doc. I just want to be normal and for my kids to have normal, happy lives. That's not too much ask."

Her smile was soft. "That's a perfectly reasonable wish to have for your family. We all want our loved ones to be happy." She leaned forward an inch. "But put that aside for a moment. There is a different, very important question you need to answer. Why do you think any of this would not be normal? If you like certain sex acts, then you like them. That's all what that means. Why do you think of that as wrong?"

"Oh God, I just said that out loud, didn't I?" He pulled a pillow over his too hot face. How embarrassing was this? Fuck!

Her gentle smile didn't waver. "It's fine. I'm here to listen to you, especially to the things you don't want to say. So, why would it be wrong if you happen to like those things? People like all sorts of things. And you said it yourself just a moment ago: It doesn't matter what you like, either you're a good person or you're not. That's all that matters."

He peeked past the pillow. "Perverts aren't good people." Obviously.

"It always changes, what is considered a perversion. Once it was considered perverted and wrong if women experienced or, God forbid, wanted sexual pleasure. Today our society accepts that women are people, too", she explained calmly. "Homosexual desires are still debated and more controversial these days, but the needle is slowly moving in the direction of acceptance. It's not purely a perversion anymore, but more a difference, something unusual, something not everybody understands, but it's not inherently evil anymore."

"Tell that to my brain", he mumbled.

She smiled warm. "I'm trying to."

He answered with a small smile of his own. "Right, almost forgot."

"Does your brain have any snarky remarks so far?", she asked.

He scoffed. "It always does."

"Want to share some?", she offered.

Marshall still hugged the pillow. Somehow that was really comforting, who would've thought. "Not really? It got nothing nice to say."

"To be honest, that's what I expect. But it sometimes helps to share, that can take the pressure off. It's kind of my business model, you know."

He eyed her for a moment. "_You don't need a pillow, you need a dick in your ass, slut, better two and one in each hand. That's the dream, ain't it, fag? Let cum rain down hard!_"

She looked at him doubtfully. "That's harsh."


	14. But None Return. When Will They Learn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days later, Marshall goes to a motel for some adult fun. But turns out, this guy ain't fun at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the "Attempted Sexual Assault"-tag comes in. It's a short scene, there's some suggestive language and a kiss and a punch in here. If you can't read this, you won't miss out on any plot. The plot is, that it happened, not what happened.
> 
> Also, there's a quick reference to his past suicide attempt.

Marshall watched the window of the motel room. Only a small light was on, barely enough to shine through the thick curtains. At least it was in the back of the parking lot this time. He was leaning against his car, biting his lip and stroking his tattooed wrist. Even though it was too dark to read, the words seemed to glow: Slit Me.

He shouldn't do this. _Don't be a bitch, you want it, hard. I know you do._ Maybe he could give this whole gay thing another try. His therapist was right, the times were changing on this, slowly but some. Why couldn't he? _Because you're a pussy._ He had to try his best. Once, he had wanted to die because of this. He couldn't have that again, he had a family to care for.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the car. With slow steps he reached the door and his hand trembled slightly, when he turned the door knob. "Hey", he said quietly into the room. It looked exactly like all the other rooms.

"Hey", the blonde smirked, "almost thought you bailed on me." He was tall, at least eight inches taller than Marshall and with a lean body underneath the tight, sleeveless shirt. There was a tattoo covering his left arm.

Marshall didn't respond the smile and admitted: "Well, almost did. This ain't ... I don't know." He shrugged. There was no reason to dwell on his insecurities. He needed to move past them, not drown in them even more.

The blonde, his nickname in the app was Striker, cocked his head. "Your first time here?"

"Might as well be." Marshall took his jacket off. "Look, I ain't here to spill my life story. Just, let's get on with it. You wanna fuck or what?"

Striker smiled thinly. "Sure, let's get on with it." He grabbed Marshall's arm and pulled him in close. A tongue licked across Marshall's cheek, a piercing scratched over his skin.

"What the hell?", he shoved the blonde away and wiped over his face. "What was that for?"

Striker scoffed. "Don't be a bitch." He pushed hard against Marshall's chest and shoved him onto the bed. One hand he pinned down on the sheets.

Marshall tried to free his arm. "Son of a bitch, get off me!" This got off to a bad start, a very bad start. This was exactly why he warned his daughters not to meet with people from the internet. You never know what crazy asshole you gonna get. Looked like he got the jackpot.

The blonde wrapped his fingers around Marshall's throat. "Now, now, you wanted to fuck. Let's fuck. No backsies."

"Fuck you!", Marshall growled. "Let go of me, asshole!" His free hand grabbed for the wrist on his throat, tried to pull it away. No luck, the tanned hand was like a bench vise. His breathing grew stertorously.

Striker stopped pinning his wrist down, instead he used that hand to lift Marshall's shirt up. Exposing his skin to the cold air and the wicked stare. "Not bad, you take care of yourself", he said jokingly.

Marshall wanted to hurl another _Fuck you!_ at the guy, but his throat wasn't working anymore. He could barely breath, let alone speak. Fear froze in the pit of his stomach. His nails scratched at the hand around his neck, that was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

What irony! Because he didn't want to dwell on his suicidal tendencies, he now was getting murdered. Fuck this!

Striker bend down to him and once more licked across Marshall's cheek. "What you like more: getting your ass fucked or your mouth? You choose. I don't care either way, I'm a nice guy like that."

Marshall squirmed underneath the blonde.

"Mouth it is", Striker decided and his thumb reached up to stroke over Marshall's lips. "This pout of yours is really inviting, you know that? The pic doesn't do it justice."

Great, a chatty asshole on top of it all.

The hand on his throat crept higher, clasped around his jaw and forced it open. A gargled sound escaped him. The blonde stuck his pierced tongue into his mouth. Marshall gagged. Then he bit down, hard.

Striker recoiled. "The fuck, you bit me!" He spit on the floor and frowned. "Fuck, you bit me bloody." His grip loosened in irritation.

Marshall shuffled back on the bed. With all the force he could muster, he kicked against Striker's chest. Gasping for air. "Fuck you." More a wheeze than an insult. He stumbled around the bed and reached for his jacket. He needed to get out of here.

Strikers hand snapped around his und pulled him close again. "What're you doin'?"

"Getting out of here, asshole", he growled and struggled to free his hand.

Striker bared his teeth. "You wanted to fuck, let's fuck. Be good and open your mouth wide." A mean, disturbing grin showed his teeth.

Marshall spit in Striker's face. "Piss off!" With his free hand he punched the blonde hard. The next second, he grabbed his jacket and ran through the door. His car seemed too far away and his key seemed too jammed in his pocket.

When he sat in his car, only the familiar and safe click of the door locks allowed for a pause and to catch his breath. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight. "Fuck", he mumbled, "fuck, fuck, fuck.."


	15. So Dark and So Cold, My Friend's Don't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Marshall gets away from the motel safely, he's a bit of a mess. He looks for comfort in one of his friends, after all, that's what friends are for.

The motor was running smoothly. The head lights illuminated the street in front. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. Still he could feel the rough grip around his throat and the pierced tongue on his cheek. A cold shiver ran through his body.

He didn't watch his steps as he walked away from his car. His feet led him to the door, unerring on their way. They knew where he needed to go, even though his mind was somewhere else or actually, his mind was nowhere.

The doorbell rang.

Commotion behind the door. Finally, it opened and a teenage boy stood in the door frame. "Dad, it's for you!", he called back into the house.

"You know, you don't open the door this late." Ryan appeared in his field of view "Marshall?" Late, he said? What time was it? Marshall looked at his watch, but his eyes couldn't focus on the delicate details of the watch face.

A strong arm was put around his shoulders, a soft pull into the house. "Trenton, turn the car off." Ryan led him into the kitchen and Marshall fell on the chair more than he sat down. He buried his face in his hands.

How the fuck did he end up in a situation like this? Probably something like this had been bound to happen. A matter of statistics. Somebody had to be the butt end of the joke and tonight this was him. Usually that was him. Why him? How was he so fucking bad at this? He always picked the wrong people to be with. Even for a stupid, shitty hook-up he regularly picked the wrong people. Never this bad, though. This was just crazy! Did he look that much like a victim? He didn't really think so, not anymore at least. He wasn't a scrawny 16-year old anymore. That time was long gone and he had no desire to have it back. He had been beaten up enough in his life. He was a grown fucking man, for crying out loud. He turned 38 next week. Thirty-fucking-eight years old. And he worked out on most days. Why was he getting attacked? And how the hell did he almost not make it out of there!

A touch at his shoulder. Marshall flinched and looked up.

Ryan looked at him quizzically and slid a coke over to him. "You okay?"

"Do I look like I'm okay?", he huffed. He wrapped his hands around the cold can, interlocking his fingers so they wouldn't shake anymore. Didn't feel like it worked.

Ryan hesitated for a second. "Did something happen?"

Marshall let out a pained groan.

A warm hand rested on his wrist, a thumb gently stroked his skin. The tremble in his fingers stopped and a warm calm spread from where Ryan touched him. It didn't spread far, but it was there. Marshall's eyes rested on the dark skinned fingers on his wrist, slowly the fine lines of Ryan's tattoos came into focus. "I ... this guy ... he ... attacked me."

Ryan's hand still lay on his wrist, softly caressing with his thumb.

"He attacked me", Marshall repeated with more strength in his voice. His hand let go of the can and rather held on to Ryan's.

A gentle squeeze. "Did he get anything?"

Marshall looked up. He withdrew his hand immediately and stood up. "I ... I should go. It's late. I ..." He turned to the door but a weak pull on his sleeve held him back.

"What's up with you?" Ryan looked at him confused.

Marshall bit his lip. "You know." He freed his arm. "You just don't care to remember." He had no headspace for their fucking pretense right now. Quickly he left the kitchen and hurried to the front door.

"What? Marshall!", more confusion. Fast steps coming after him. Another pull on his sleeve, stronger this time. "Wait a minute. What are you talking about?"

Marshall stared at him. There was no way in hell he was saying that out loud.

Slowly understanding sank into Ryan's eyes. Marshall was pulled into a hug and his limbs stiffened for a second, but soon he leaned in. The warm calm he had felt on his wrist just a moment ago now spread throughout his body. A small sob seeped into Ryan's shirt.

"Of course I remember", he said softly into Marshall's ear. "Stay." He moved them to the couch in the living room. "Now, what happened?"

With a sigh Marshall sat down. "I just told you."

"Barely. You're not really talkative lately." He sat down next to him, shuffling into a position so he could look at Marshall directly. Look at him worried. "Which for you is weird."

Marshall looked down to his hands, they played with the zipper of his jacket. "There's not much I can say without ruining everything."

"You ain't ruining anything."

Marshall wasn't so sure about that. He rolled his shoulders under the uncomfortable stare and the growing silence, that he didn't want to bear. "I", he finally said, "I was at a motel, you know ... and that guy was just crazy. I ... You're so lucky you don't have to deal with this shit. Dating apps", he grumbled, "the worst."

Ryan kept silent, kept looking at him intently.

"I ..." What could he say? In actuality not much had happened. He freaked out over not much more than an unwanted kiss, admitting that he was too weak and too stupid. Even worse, he admitted what he was trying to do recently. He shouldn't have come here, but he didn't want to be alone, either. "I'm sorry."

"No", Ryan said resolutely. "Don't apologize. The guy was crazy, that's not on you." He was still eyeing him up and said in a low tone: "So, you're dating guys now?"

"No, I don't", Marshall promptly denied, then he sighed and conceded: "Yeah, kinda ... maybe, a little. Whatever."

"You don't sound so sure." Ryan smirked. "You need some anatomy lessons on what's what?"

He nudged him between the rips. "Shut up." His head fell on the back of the couch, the ceiling here was just as judgy as his own. "Okay fine, whatever. But I wouldn't exactly call it dating, though. That seems a bit much."

"Yeah, I remember. It's just sex, no reason to get chummy and shit. Ain't that how you put it?"

Marshall shrugged. "So? Sex ain't worth the hassle either, if you ask me."

"Then why're you doing it?", Ryan asked calmly.

Marshall looked at him skeptically. "What a stupid question is that?"

"I'm serious." Ryan answered his gaze. "If it's not worth the trouble to you and you're so hesitant about the whole thing, then why go through with it?"

Marshall let out a short puff. "Easy for you to say. You've been married, like, forever. Not everybody is as lucky as you."

Ryan cocked his head, a doubtful expression on his face. "And anonymous sex in some motel is a substitute for that? How's that working out?"

"I know", he sighed. He couldn't muster the energy to get angry right now. Being angry at truth didn't help anyway. It was just easier. "I know that, okay. I don't need a lecture from you. So, could you not."

"That's not how I meant it." He gently bumped his fist against Marshall's shoulder. "And you know that. I'm just a bit surprised you're actually going that route. Honestly, I didn't think you would do that."

Marshall frowned at him and growled low. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't give me that look", Ryan tried to defend himself. "You spend like, what, twenty years to make it work with Kim? That doesn't really say: I'm gay and I'm proud, does it?"

Marshall flinched as his friend said that out loud.

"See, that's more what I thought", Ryan continued. "And I'm pretty sure, whatever your therapist does with you, this ain't really what she meant."

"Well, this is all she gonna get." He was growing annoyed at their conversation. He really shouldn't have come here.

"But you're the one who suffers."

Marshall stood up sharply, but before he could say or do something, Ryan pulled him back down onto the couch. Marshall couldn't hide the pained tone in his voice as he spoke: "I don't." Ryan looked at him silently. He didn't need to say a word to make his point heard, it was loud and clear in Marshall's ears. In a hushed but accusing tone he added: "You don't."

"Me?", Ryan asked surprised. "Why would I?"

"You know", he insinuated. "You moved on, just like that. With a wife."

Ryan shook his head slightly, sympathetically. "That ain't the same thing. I ain't gay."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Of course not. You just stumbled and fell dick first into me. How could I mix that up. Sorry, my bad."

"Don't be sarcastic." Again Ryan shoved Marshall's shoulder softly. "What happened, happened. But that doesn't mean I'm gay. It just means that ... well, I liked you." He shrugged. Marshall always had found it cute, when Ryan was acting shy. _You sure you're just gay and not secretly a woman trapped in the wrong body?_ Normally, you wouldn't see that on him. "And it confused the hell out of me, believe me. But it probably was easier on me than on you." Ryan rubbed his neck nervously. "I love my wife and I very much love that she's an attractive woman. And at times I think another man's attractive, too. It makes movie night with my wife a lot easier, actually. You know, some people just ... they just have a seductive quality to them and you can't resist, but ..." Ryan looked at him, honesty filled his ink-black eyes. "What I mean is, I'm not gay because I liked you back then. There's more to these things than just one moment."

Marshall bit his lip and had to look away. He really was the weird one here. And it sounded like whatever they'd had back then, hadn't been the same for Ryan than it had been for him. He'd always known that. Still, not a good feeling to be hearing it now. "Okay, you ain't gay. Good for you."

"It's neither-"

"Wait a minute", Marshall interrupted him. "You told your wife?"

Ryan nodded, "Of course I did. She's-"

"Are you crazy!", Marshall interrupted him again and jumped back up from the couch. "You can't just go around and tell people that. I don't care if she's your wife or your Siamese twin brother or your fucking appendix. You have no right-"

"Calm down!", Ryan interrupted him. "I never said your name, aight? She doesn't know it was you, but she's gonna connect the dots if you yell some more. Sit down." He pulled him onto the couch again. "She's my wife, of course she knows what I like and don't like. That's what a relationship is."

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest. "You better didn't. I don't need anyone to know." Already too many people knew.

"She wouldn't mind, though", Ryan suggested. "She actually was the one who encouraged me to look at this more honestly. Ain't like I'm enlightened enough to be casual about this by myself."

"About what? You like women. No problem with that."

Ryan nodded thoughtfully. "That's the difference between you and me."

"Yeah, rub some more salt in. Thanks a lot", he snarled.

He squeezed Marshall's shoulder lightly. "You're my friend. And as your friend I'm telling you: This can't go on. You're more miserable now than you've been in a long while and you regularly look mangled. We all worry about you. I can't know how hard this is on you, but you have to find a more sustainable way of dealing with this."

Marshall pulled his shoulder away. "You're overreacting."

Ryan stood up. "You gonna stay here tonight."


	16. But Tonight, Curiosity Overrides Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ryan pushes him to ask, Marshall and Nicolas spend time together on an actual date.

He stared his phone down. His fingers held on to the pen, nervous to pick up the phone but forbidden to do so. Nicolas didn't deserve his attention and how much he thought about him. _You mean, dream about him like a lovesick teenager. You write his name with a heart on the i?_ He was just an asshole, a sexy asshole, but still.

But still he thought about him and also, more and more he had to face the uncomfortable truth: He had broken his rules by choice, not force. That would be so easy to say. Just put the blame on someone else and he could go back to normal. But he wasn't. With Nicolas everything had felt good, the hands, the tongue, their bodies on top of each other. He wanted Nicolas to do it again. He wanted to kiss him again, to talk to him again, to break beneath his evil grin. For some reason, the memory of the powerlessness Nicolas caused thrilled him. Not to forget the memory of the cock inside his mouth. Nevertheless, Nicolas was an asshole. An asshole he liked somehow.

"Marshall?" A hand waved in front of his face. Ryan smirked in amusement. "I take that as a yes. Before you get totally lost in your daydream, you might wanna text that guy first."

"Hell no!" He shook his head determinately. "I ain't texting that son of bitch. Forget it."

"Why not?"

Marshall frowned. "I didn't ask for your help."

"I can count the fingers on your neck, that's pretty much begging for help." Ryan was visibly annoyed.

Involuntarily he put his hand on the marks his neck showed so well. It really looked mean. "I told you, I ain't doing that again. Promise."

Ryan snorted quietly. "Save it. You have a neck for getting into trouble. Quite literally. Anyway, if you really want to go this route, you need to do it right. And that is: Text the guy, that gets you all dreamy eyed, and start dating him for real. Not just hook-ups, actual dating." He passed the phone over to him.

"But he's an asshole. You said yourself, he's too intense. I ain't doing that."

Ryan thought that over for a moment. "The deaf guy from the club?"

Marshall nodded shortly.

"Then, that wasn't his girlfriend?"

Marshall shrugged. "I don't know. Didn't ask for his resume."

"Whatever. Text him, ask him out - properly", Ryan demanded.

Marshall took his phone into his hands. "Ask him out? To what? It's not like we could go to the movies or some shit. I just cause a stir and he can't hear the dialog anyway. Same goes for restaurants: I attract too much attention and he isn't a big talker anyway, or at least not with spoken language and I don't know sign language. How do you think this is supposed to work?"

"You figure that out together. He seemed to like you enough. He ordered you a fancy drink after all, that's pretty date-like already, don't you think?"

Marshall grumbled and opened the app. But he didn't type. "I can't do this."

Ryan took the phone out of his hands. "Well, then I'm gonna do it for you."

"Don't you fucking dare!" He took his phone back. "I can do this by myself, dickhead."

Ryan looked at him expectantly.

Marshall took a deep breath and stared at the blinking cursor. What should he type? He hadn't actually dated someone in … felt like never. On top of that, the last time they had seen each other, it had ended in a fistfight. Not a good basis for dating. Boxing? The gym he went to sometimes was small, nobody yet had bothered him there. Even if, boxing wasn't an obvious dating activity. He could be out with a friend just the same. Brilliant idea! He sent: up for some exercise?

"Isn't that a bit short?" Ryan had slid next to him and looked over his shoulder. "Also, doesn't sound like a date. Exercise? You have a weird concept of a fun night out."

"Hey, no peeking." He leaned away slightly, more to punctuate his words, less to actually hide the screen of his phone. "Boxing is fun. And judging by his muscles and all the scars he has, he likes to fight. This is perfect."

Ryan didn't seem convinced, but before he could interject some more, Marshall's phone beeped. "That's fast", Ryan noted.

Marshall read the message: really? Again, only one word. "I swear, this guy", he grumbled and looked to Ryan. "See, he ain't a guy for dating and neither am I."

Ryan made a dismissive gesture. "Nobody would read that as a date. Go on, answer."

"It's gonna be a great date, you'll see." Marshall was still very pleased with his idea. So he typed: how does boxing sound? tomorrow, 5.30pm

Before either of the two could say anything, the answer came in: ok

"See, wasn't so hard, was it." Ryan smirked. "Now you actually have a date."

Marshall blinked unbelieving. "I hate you."

* * *

This was a bad idea. A date. A fucking date! He didn't do dates. This was a terrible idea. At a boxing ring of all places. This wouldn't work. Why did he think this was a good idea? Whatever had shit in his head needed to go in the ring with him, he wanted to beat it to a pulp. _Take a mirror. I bet, Nicolas'll have fun watching you beat yourself up._ This would end up in a disaster.

Marshall fumbled for his phone. He could write he was sick. He definitely felt sick, like this close to actually vomit all over the floor. Perhaps they could try this date-thing somewhen else, somewhere better.

A tap on his shoulder. Nicolas waved a hand for a second.

"Uhm … hi", Marshall responded. Shit, he sounded as nervous as he felt. This was worse than meeting some stranger in a random motel room. He picked at his t-shirt. They could've met for skiing, then he wouldn't feel so fucking exposed right now. _Calm down. He already knows you naked, no reason to freak out._ Shit, he was getting on his own nerves, wasn't that a great start?

Nicolas's hands pushed some air together.

What did that mean? Looked like he was smushing the sides of a small box. Marshall took the leap: "Yeah, it's a small box of a gym, but I like it this way." If he sounded like an idiot, then be it. _You are an idiot._

Nicolas pointed to the boxing ring.

That was easy to decipher and Marshall nodded. "Let's. This time, I'ma send you to the ground."

There it was, that mean, provocative grin Nicolas wore so masterfully. Marshall knew, he had already lost.

* * *

He should be proven correct. He lost. Well, technically it was more like a draw. Nobody got knocked out, that would be stupid, and nobody went to the ground. But Marshall felt like he'd lost, because Nicolas hadn't put all his energy into the fight. Marshall hated it, when he was treated with kid gloves. He could take the consequences of his actions. _Since when? You cry yourself to sleep because you can't. Did you already forget, faggot?_ Right now, his pride hurt more than the couple of bruises their fight had caused.

Really, did he look that fragile to Nicolas? Same with the crazy guy the other night. Did he somehow give off a vibe he'd be that weak? _You kinda have a delicate face, you know, slim, with high cheek bones, alluring lips, bright blue eyes. What can I say?_ This was getting absurd!

Nicolas held out a bottle of water to him. Right, that was more important, getting some fluids back and his breathing under control. Then Nicolas signed something and the only gesture Marshall could recognize as a thing was when he put his fingertips against his mouth. That looked like eating.

So, Marshall nodded in agreement. "I could go for some food. Any ideas?"

Nicolas tipped against his temple. Seemed like he had an idea, well then, Marshall would see where this would be going.

* * *

They went to a Mongolian grill. Marshall didn't know Detroit had one of those, the more you knew. There was a table in the back of the restaurant they took over and the food was nice. Probably not his favorite, Marshall thought, but nevertheless good.

One good thing about food: you had an excuse for not talking. What could he say anyway? It didn't seem right to just chat away meaninglessly, not if it was this hard to communicate at all. Nicolas clearly preferred to not speak out loud, why else would he use sign language with him, who just as clearly didn't know any. But what meaningful conversation was there to be had? What was meaningful anyway? _Don't overthink it. He came to your stupid date, so he must like you for some mystery reason. Don't screw it up, girl._ Maybe they could talk about their hobbies? As far as getting to know each other went, that was kind of meaningful. Well, did he even have a hobby? Would look stupid if he asked for Nicolas's and didn't have any of his own to offer. Hm, about boxing he already knew. What else did he do?

Nicolas clicked his fingers in front of Marshall's face, an amused smirk on his lips. He pointed at Marshall and then at his temple. Was he asking for Marshall's thoughts?

Marshall shook his head. "Just bullshit." Especially bullshit he shouldn't space out over. He was here to spend time with Nicolas, not to get lost in his head. That he could have any day of the week. "The food's good." _Lame!_ Agreed.

Nicolas touched the side of his neck and pointed at Marshall again.

Instantly he pressed his hand over the bruise. "Nothing", he replied. "Just a guy who couldn't take no for an answer."

Nicolas cocked his head.

"Don't give me that. You never ran into an asshole before? It's not a big deal." Practically nothing had happened anyway. No need to make a fuss about it. "I can take care of myself, you know." He was not weak, just so Nicolas knew.

Another smirk from Nicolas. Amicably? Couldn't be. "You box often?", he asked. Deep voice, a little breathy and this weird way of stretching the vowels just a little too much.

Marshall's ears tingled. "Every so often", he answered. "Usually at home, though. I'm more into running and I like to play basketball, too." What was this, his first day of school? He had hated those rounds of introductions. _And you never introduced yourself right. Hi, I'm Marshall and I'm gay. Wanna get a blowjob? That ain't hard to say._ "What about you?"

"Sword fighting, Japanese style."

"Like in the movies? You know, samurai and anime and stuff like that? That's cool." Could he sound more superficial? _If you start giggling next, I'm gonna leave. Period._ That might be worth the risk. C_ome on, you'd be lonely without me_.

Nicolas looked at him with obvious skepticism.

Marshall shrugged and rather ate a big mouthful of his food. That seemed like the safer option right now. "My daughter watches some anime", he defended himself. Of course he couldn't just let it stand like this, he had to make it worse. _That's your hobby. See, you do have those._

"Daughter?", Nicolas asked.

_Uh-oh. You're scaring him off. Who wants to date an old man with three kids? _He knew that! What was he supposed to do now? He wasn't gonna lie about his family. So he answered honestly: "Three, two nosy teenagers and a small one." Well, at least he got one real date in. _Oh, now you care about dates? _Silver linings and shit like that, right?

Nicolas looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Do they know?"

Marshall sighed. "No, they don't. And I don't plan on telling them." Still this thoughtful look on Nicolas's face, wasn't as sexy as his mean grin. But Marshall wasn't about to let this judgmental stare stand. "What about your girlfriend, does she know you're on a date with me?" Offense was the best defense. _And the fastest way to lose._

"Girlfriend?", Nicolas asked dumbfounded. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"The singer", he explained. "She even knows sign language."

Nicolas shook his head, but that smirk was back. "Jealous?"

"Of course not", he huffed. _Of course yes._ It wasn't like he wanted a relationship or some bullshit like that. _Of course you do, you're a romantic girl, they always want a relationship and a wedding and bucket full of kids._ He didn't really want to have this date, either. Their hook-ups had been totally fine. _Oh come on, stand by yourself just once._

Nicolas looked at him silently. Mean smirk and knowing eyes. Eyes so black, they didn't even reflect the ceiling light. He leaned forward and snatched a piece of meat from Marshall's plate. "She's a hooker my roommate fixes up. And her signing isn't any good." He propped his chin up with one hand, his eyes never leaving Marshall's face. "So, we are dating now?"

Fuck. "No?" Could Nicolas discern tone of voice? Didn't matter. Judging by how hot his face felt, all visible cues were on high alert: embarrassment, bashfulness, dread, hope. _Don't fuck this up, stupid! You're this close to an actual boyfriend. Your first real boyfriend. It's about fucking time!_ This was totally going the wrong way. He didn't know which one the right way was, but this was definitely wrong. Where was the whole in the ground, when you needed it? He was a grown man and his face had decided to act like it was twelve again and everything was cause to turn red like a fire truck. "Yes?", and his voice totally broke.

He cleared his throat. Fuck this, he was no pussy! _That's debatable, homo. You certainly have one._ "I mean …" What exactly did he mean? _If only I knew, haven't figured that out yet. But I bet, his dick in your mouth would be a good start, would it not?_ Obviously, he didn't want to be gay. That was safe to say. Also just as obvious he liked Nicolas and judging by how his heart fluttered, he liked him a little too much already. _Come on, you want to be his girlfriend. Just ask. What's the worst that can happen? _That he said no, of course. That he laughed at him, of course. That he went to the press with it, of course. That the world exploded, of course. _Ugh, don't be such a drama queen. Let me handle this._

"_You prick never heard of the three date rule? This is the fourth, we're officially a thing now. Deal with it._" Marshall died a little.


	17. I'ma Give You the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter says everything: Marshall comes home from his date with Nicolas and finds that his daughters have an idea, he is not prepared for at all.

The front door shut close with a comforting, final thud. He leaned against the wooden panel. "Fuck!", a long, bewildered syllable. His heart was still beating too fast and his hands still shook nervously. He couldn't believe this.

The foyer was inhabited by the shadows of his home. The stairs wound their way upward, dark holes where doors should be, a small strip of light stuck in the chandelier high up. An all familiar sight, but unreal now. How was this his life?

His feet moved on their own, into the kitchen. Good choice. He could use a drink. Something that calmed his nerves. A coke wasn't good enough, but it would need to do. There was light in the kitchen and his daughters sat around the table eating their dinner. Bad choice. Abort! Abort!

"Hey Dad", they greeted. "You look excited, something good happened?"

He didn't know about good, but something definitely happened. _You're welcome, by the way._ He could've managed on his own. "Same old, same old." As he looked into the fridge, again nothing seemed appealing. A bottle of red pop caught his eye, there was a strawberry on the label. With his drink he sat down next to his girls.

"That's mine", Whitney complained immediately. That he should've guessed.

He looked at the label deliberately. "Doesn't say Whitney on it, so it's mine now." Sweet, that it was, teeth eatingly sweet.

Hailie smiled innocently. "Shouldn't you still be out? Tonight's date night, isn't it?" Not at all an innocent question. How did she know? Did she read his calendar or what?

Well, he had told them he'd be late, so they wouldn't wait for dinner. But that didn't automatically mean he had a date. There were tons of reasons for him to miss dinner. _Nope, there actually aren't. You had an actual date tonight and I was on fire! I totally crushed it._ "Didn't take as long as I thought. Happens", he dodged around the real answer.

"Good things don't take long", she replied, still with that innocent smile. He would not be fooled.

Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "Apparently." Okay fine, he was excited. How could he not? Nicolas had given him his phone number. No stupid dating app required anymore. That was freaking amazing. _You, my little gay looking boy, officially have a boyfriend now. Congrats. But stay safe, don't get knocked up yet._ This pop was too sweet. He went back to the fridge and to his surprise he found a bottle of tonic water. Who drank that around here? Lucky for him. The mix tasted much better. He leaned against the countertop.

"Don't you wanna share the good news with us?", Lainy asked.

Did he look like the sharing type? _Actually ..._ Shut up, just once! He could feel the big smile on his face, he knew how he looked, thank you very much. It just wouldn't go away. "There ain't much to say. Was a good meeting with some breakthrough."

"Dad", Hailie scolded him sternly. Since when did she get to use that tone with him? Had he dropped his parenting in the last couple of weeks because of this mess? He needed to pick up the slack around here.

"Don't dad me." Very parental of him. "How was your biology exam? Your grade must be in by now."

She winked dismissively. "I aced it, duh. But the real question is: How well exactly did your date go?" She watched him closely. "I mean, are you gonna bring her home any time soon or what?"

"What do you care so much?"

"Because you're our dad", Lainy answered instead. "You're all up in our dating lives, too. It's because you love us. And so do we. It's annoying but that's how it is."

That was downright heartwarming. "What do you guys want?"

Theatrically Hailie grabbed her chest. "Dad, you don't think we could use your affection for us for some evil deed. We are good girls, we would never."

"But", Lainy interjected with a sly smile, "if you just can't help yourself but think we're too cute to resist, I want to make a suggestion. How about I and my dear little sisters, who I just can't live without, arrange a, let's call it an intimate get-together this weekend here. Just a couple of our friends come over, maybe we do a little karaoke. Nothing big, just a bit of fun. And you, dear father, could take the whole weekend off for your mystery girlfriend and spend some quality time with her. It's your birthday after all, you deserve some grown-up fun. How's that sound like? It's a great idea, isn't it."

That raised all the warning bells. His father senses jumped in immediately. This sounded like a terrible idea. His girls alone in the house, throwing a party? "Nope. No way. Forget it. Not in a million years."

"Dahad", three voices whined high pitched. They needed a license for that. Why couldn't girls have a change of voice, too? _They're not wrong, though. Now that you have a fucking boyfriend, spend some quality time with him._ But not if it meant his three teenage daughters would throw a party, for a whole weekend. He knew how that would turn out._ Don't be so uptight. Treat your family to some fun._ He wasn't uptight, it was called responsible. _Same difference, old fart._

"You can whine all you want, I won't change my mind." Not for the whining of his daughters and sure as shit not for the whining in his head.

"Dahad, that's not fair." More whining. They wouldn't win.


	18. You Wanted an Intimate Date, I Wanna Intimidate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids get their wish, of course, and Marshall is about to embark on a three-day trip with Nicolas to Lake Michigan. As expected, he's a nervous wreck. But spending time with Nicolas is worth it and then, things start to get deep …

Of course they won. They always won over him. He sighed internally, while he was still talking to Ryan. "… only a couple friends - this is not a party. Be strict. No too loud music, no alcohol or whatever shit they come up with and they go to bed on time. Whitney's only eight and she's not going to a party, not even her sisters'. And if anything goes wrong, call me. Even in the middle of the night, I don't care. I don't want-"

"Go, Marshall, just go." Ryan pushed him out of the door. "I have five kids myself, I can handle a weekend with yours. Enjoy your romantic trip and don't think about home, that's my birthday present to you. I got everything under control."

Marshall wanted to step back into his house. "But I have to-"

"You don't", Ryan interrupted him again. "Just go already." He stood in the door frame, unmoving and totally blocking the way.

Marshall sighed, out loud this time. "This is a bad idea."

"It's not and you know it. Now, go!", Ryan ordered and shoved him softly out the door.

Grumbling Marshall got into his car. He still thought, this was a bad idea. Sure, a whole weekend with Nicolas sounded good, exhilarating even but also terrifying. _You chicken out already? Come on, fag, get at least one fuck in._ Worse though, leaving his daughters alone while they threw a party. Just a few friends, he didn't believe them and they knew that. How Ryan got involved with this, was anyone's guess, Marshall had no clue. _Let me try: You told him about their awesome idea and made sad puppy dog eyes so long until he made you say yes. You can't do anything on your own, pussy._ Suddenly he acted as their babysitter and before Marshall knew, Nicolas had taken the weekend off and voilà, here he was on his way to three days of just the two of them.

His car stopped at Nicolas's address. In a small street a small house clung to the neighboring houses and all the colors were a shade of gray. The entrance receded into a niche, just a few steps were visible in the shadows. On the last step Nicolas sat. When he recognized Marshall's car, he came over. A short gray jacket, a black t-shirt underneath and his dog tags flashed in the sunlight for just a moment, cargo pants in a dark olive tone that were tucked into heavy boots. Somehow it seemed unlikely he would ever wear a suit.

They exchanged short nods for greetings as Nicolas sat down in the front seat. Some tunes were playing on the car stereo, a new artist Marshall was checking out. Not helpful now. _Wouldn't be helpful either way, you always ramble on and on when you start about music. That won't make him hard._ He would've liked to talk about it or just about music in general, after all music was a huge fucking deal in his life. _So is his dick. Though not that huge fucking deal in comparison, but for your needy hole it'll be enough._ But did deaf people enjoy music? Some must, since there always were a couple of people with the interpreter at his concerts. He always found that odd. If you couldn't hear anything, what good did music do for you? _Lucky guy! How I wish I couldn't hear anything right now. You never shut up, bitch._ Music was awesome and he appreciated that people liked his songs, of course, but … He couldn't visualize - or more audiolize - how that worked.

Was it insensitive to ask? Probably. Most definitely. He was a more tactful person than people gave his music credit for. He knew what not to say, but he usually decided that was exactly the reason to rap it anyways. Didn't mean he wanted to offend here, when he was actually trying to - whatever this was. _A romantic weekend with your boyfriend. It feels as cheesy as it sounds. Stay with random fucks, fag, that's what you're good at. Well, good enough. Aren't homos supposed to be better at sex? You know, the whole 'we have the same equipment'-thing? Maybe he'll teach you?_

For a moment he looked over to Nicolas, who was looking out the window and watching the houses go by and the streets blur together while they drove through the city. What an amazing start for their weekend.

Marshall sighed quietly. Even though he had bought a book about sign language _Girl, you _\- they were officially dating now, so making an effort wasn't a bad thing, no need to judge! - it had been the first thing in his bag today, but half a week was not enough time to get anything useful out of it. _You don't need much, slut. Just 'fuck me', that'll take care of all your needs. Maybe 'ass' and 'mouth', too, so you can specify. But I bet he's gonna fill all your holes without your instructions. You don't know what you're doing anyway._ Plus, he highly doubted he would ever learn it to an adequate degree. It wasn't just learning new words, that he'll probably manage just fine. He learned new English words all the time, no problem. But they also put them in the wrong order sometimes. How were you supposed to understand anything, when the words were out of order? _You need to get fucked in an order? Crazy fag. What, first mouth, then ass, then mouth again?_ That just baffled him.

Anyway, the book wasn't too helpful for their situation. The first lesson was on how to introduce yourself. Well, they had already done that. What next? Numbers. Really not helpful.

Should they drive to the lake in silence? That seemed wrong, too. They couldn't spend the whole weekend not talking. _Of course you can! It's called fucking and it's supposed to be awesome. Not that you would know, slut, so many groupies but no fun. It's embarrassing._ How much of a getaway would that be? If they wanted to get to know each other, some form of communication had to happen. Did Nicolas even want to get to know him? He seemed rather withdrawn most of the time. _Can you blame him? He's stuck with a first time homo, that gets panic attacks after he gets fucked in the ass. He's gonna see that, bitch, you know that, right?_ After a whole weekend, he'd probably grow frustrated with their communication mismatch. It probably wouldn't make up for it, that Nicolas liked to tease and fuck him. Marshall wasn't good enough at sex for it to make a difference like this, about that he had no illusions. And teasing got old after a while. This was so fucked up. _You wanted your first boyfriend to be handicapped, tough luck. Instead of getting your first real world gay experience with a normal guy, no, Mister Special Treatment needs to take on a charity case. If you weren't so picky and conceited and a freak, you would've found a nice, easy dick to suck. But_…

Marshall hit the steering wheel. "Shut up!" Goddammed it. Chewing everything over and over just made it worse. Like always.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked over to Nicolas. He was tapping his fist to his chin, the thumb and pinky extended straight and he had a questioning frown on his face.

Whatever that meant, Marshall wouldn't care to answer. He was not explaining how fucked up his mind was. So he just shook his head. "Nevermind. It's nothing."

The smirk on the thin lips, he wanted to kiss so badly, had a sympathetic curl to it. He pointed at Marshall, then his temple and his hands seemed to cover an expanding ball. - What the hell did he do? Nicolas spoke out loud: "You think too much."

Of course, that's what it was. "Bad habit of mine." A short shrug. "I just … I don't know." He wanted their weekend to be great, that wasn't a crime.

Nicolas put his hand on Marshall's knee. A warm, prickling sensation arose from the touch. He couldn't help but glance at the hand for a second. The bass of Nicolas's voice raised his eyes again. "Relax. Just think about this as two guys having a fun weekend, that ain't too bad."

Shit. Was he so easy to read? _You're not a sophisticated person, just too tangled up in yourself._ He needed to get his cold demeanor back. _Hahaha!_ "I know that, it was my idea after all."

"Your ideas always make you nervous?" Nicolas's hand still lay on his leg.

Marshall bit his lip. His ideas perhaps not, but that hand certainly did. "Shut up." He rubbed his ear a little to make the tingling go away. He hadn't found a way to make a beat like his voice, yet. The tone was hard to catch.

Nicolas cocked an eyebrow, then he took out a book from his bag and started reading.

Somehow he felt a little disappointed now that Nicolas was actually shutting up. That wasn't what he wanted. The smirk, which crept to the edge of Nicolas's mouth, showed how very well aware of this the guy was. Of course he only read to tease him. Plus, he was somewhat surprised to see this at all, teasing or not. Nicolas didn't seem like the reading type. _No need to panic! He doesn't seem to mind how foolish you are. Maybe he likes simple-minded people? Opposites attract and shit like that._ Whyever, there certainly was attraction and he had an hour of driving ahead of him to ignore the hand on his leg.

* * *

The small house was hidden behind a couple of trees and thick copses. They were supposed to give a sense of privacy, but with the soft noise from the lake there was a certain atmosphere of aloneness Marshall liked. As if other humans didn't exist, at least not here. Sometimes that was exactly what you needed.

It also was exactly the kind of environment he needed, if he didn't want to get consumed by his paranoia. A whole weekend with another man at a motel? That just begged for trouble and publicity. On top of that, a motel wasn't really the place to be if you wanted your date to go well.

They got out of the car. Finally, Nicolas's hand had to leave his knee, but Marshall still felt the hot touch on his skin. He was expecting more, even hotter touches. He bit his lip in anticipating pleasure as he unlocked the front door.

As they entered, Nicolas looked around - so was he a bit curious about Marshall after all? - but there wasn't much to see. The house was furnished homey and it was an open floor plan, so you could pretty much see everything, but since he only came here occasionally it was mostly empty of personal belongings. He had been here earlier this week to stock up the fridge, but why bring anything personal here? It would only be missing from his actual home. For some reason though, Nicolas looking around, this mild curiosity of his created a lump in Marshall's throat.

Then Nicolas sat down on the couch in the living area. Seemed about right. Expectantly he looked to Marshall. A short wink told him to come as well.

So he did, but before he could actually sit down as intended, Nicolas grabbed his jacket and pulled him in close. Marshall fell right on top of him. The surprised yelp faded into the kiss. Lips hungry, tongues starving. A relieved sigh. Their last kiss had been five weeks ago. Way too fucking long! He pulled himself close to Nicolas, his arms wrapping around the broad shoulders, but tattoos still covered by the clothes. Soon. Nicolas's arms wrapped around Marshall's waist, their bodies pushed together. The kiss heated, breathless, but their tongues didn't leave each other, their lips didn't part. Rather they choked on each other than to leave their mouths.

Nicolas's hands stroked down his lower back to Marshall's ass and grabbed those cheeks hard. A teasing pinch.

A long moan escaped Marshall's throat. He jerked up. "Don't", he said in a low tone. His eyes scanned Nicolas's face for a reaction. He shook his head: "I … don't."

A moment of motionlessness. They just looked at each other.

Marshall bit his lip. His hands dug into the black t-shirt, grazed the muscles underneath. Was he too complicated? _You're needlessly complicated, fag. You want him to fuck you, so let him already!_ Would his inhibitions turn Nicolas off? _They turn me off, that's for sure. How are you this bad at sex? Isn't practice supposed to make perfect? Whoever said that, never met a stupid horny slut like you._ He couldn't brush them off. He wanted to, and at the same time, he didn't want to. He got off the couch.

Or so his plan. But Nicolas had something else in mind. He pushed Marshall on the couch and pressed their hips together. A delighted sigh. He bend down to Marshall's ear and kissed and nibbled on the earlobe. A warm shiver ran through his body. "Relax", the deep voice was directly in his ear. Marshall sighed again. "You think too much." Nicolas's hands pulled Marshall's shirt higher and stroked the exposed skin. The rough fingers pinched one of his nipples and Marshall bit his lips to stop the moan. "There's only you and me." Nicolas looked at him again, their noses almost touched. A soft kiss on his lips.

Marshall put his hands over his face. This was too much. This was different, so very different from his usual hook-ups, where nothing mattered. This mattered. They were not in some meaningless motel room and they were not meaningless to each other, not anymore. This was his home, an infrequent one, but his, nevertheless. And they had decided to be something, together. _Maybe you should stop therapy, it turns you into a twelve-year old girl. Not sexy, believe me._ Marshall didn't want to fuck this up, but he inevitably would. He always did. _You're fucking it up right fucking now. Fucking faggot._ Being this weird about relationships and sex was a fast track to fucking things up. _Why anyway? It's just sex, who cares. You fucked plenty, bad but plenty, no reason to get weird about it now._ But this wasn't an annoying groupie, he was his fucking boyfriend!

A pair of lips brushed his hands. Marshall peeked through between his fingers. Nicolas was still so close, kissing softly the back of his hands. "Relax", he repeated, a warm puff of air caressed Marshall's skin. The black eyes caught him peeking, they sucked in all sunlight.

This was exactly why he couldn't do any of this! He shirked off his responsibilities as a father to come here, to eventually get fucked by another man. So gross. He should be at home and spend time with his daughters, not giving them space to throw a fucking party. _Don't give me flimsy excuses. You're pining for his hot, hard dick in your pussy, admit it already._ He was a bad father, because he wanted to be here more than at home. That he should've told his therapist.

Nicolas sat up, but his hand was still on Marshall, slightly stroking his stomach. "Your pleasure is obvious, but so is your pain."

Marshall ran a hand over his face. "Oh God", he groaned. "This is terrible."

Silence. Only the soft touch around his navel.

He took his hands from his face and looked at Nicolas. There was only questions in his eyes. Marshall sighed and sat up as well. Lying down like that made him queazy. Sitting up now brought them way too close, though. Their legs entangled, their hips brushing each other again. Nicolas's hand moved from his navel to his back, holding him. Why was Nicolas so careful now? No teasing smirk or mean grin, that totally threw Marshall off.

He sighed again. He did that way too often recently. "I, uhm, I'm in therapy", he confessed.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows.

"For addiction", he added quickly, "I mean, drug addiction, uhm." _Smooth, homo, real smooth. That has nothing to do with your gay panic, you know._ He was getting there. He needed to start small and work through to the big things. "Anyway, that's all fine, don't worry, I'm good. Just … I don't know, it's complicated. Let's just say, the addiction didn't come out of nowhere and this is … uhm, new for me."

Nicolas nodded.

Marshall swallowed hard. Did he need to say more? His therapist always stretched how important communication was, in everything, with his daughters and his friends. He was really bad at this. Probably applied to a relationship, too. Even a brand new one? "I tried a normal relationship for almost twenty years, you know, with the same girl all the time. I even married her twice and … I screwed that up royally. Obviously. And I, uhm, just, this is kinda hard. I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "I tried to best my therapist with the whole motel thing and that totally backfired, like, on all levels. I was trying to proof that I ain't like this and that I don't need some stupid relationship, those don't work anyway." He bit his lip.

Nicolas tilted his head. A slight hint of amusement colored the edges of his mouth.

Marshall scratched his neck. "What I'm trying to say is … I understand if you wanna leave. I can be a bit much, I know that."

Nicolas kissed him, not more than a quick touch of their lips. "Why would I wanna leave? We all have baggage."

"But", Marshall interjected, "that doesn't mean you need to deal with my shit. I can't even deal with my shit. I hate myself for liking you, how fucked up is that?" And now he hated himself for saying that out loud. _Good one. Next, tell him how you cry yourself to sleep because you love his dick in your pussy. Fucking homo. That's gonna make him hard._ How was he fucking things up this early this badly? They hadn't even been here five minutes and he was already telling Nicolas to break up with him. He should've just let his ass enjoy the squeeze, then they would be having sex right about now instead of this shit. _And half an hour later you would cry in his arms. Sounds so much better, doesn't it._

Another light kiss. "You think too much."

Amazingly, Nicolas was still here. He sat on the couch and read his book. Casually. Like this was normal. Like they would do this every weekend, no big deal. Slowly he was stroking through Marshall's short hair.

Just as casual, Marshall's head rested on Nicolas's leg. _I need to puke! You're in a bad chick flick now? What's next, a sassy remark about his stupid book? He's gay, not a masochist._

He didn't feel casual at all! The music in his headphones didn't do much to distract him. If he moved his head to the side just an inch, there was Nicolas's crotch. In full view. Still covered with his cargo pants, but he knew it was there. And he knew what Nicolas really wanted to do right now, which involved what those pants covered. _So should you! You're a guy, start acting like it. Getting all finicky about fucking. It's too late for that, you're no virgin no more and that's never coming back. _Not that Marshall wouldn't want to, he did. Kind of. He couldn't think about anything else. But thinking a thing and doing a thing, that were two different things. _You're so eloquent. They're just waiting to give you a Pulitzer, I bet._ If he'd had an easy time with this whole fucked up mess, he wouldn't have this problem in the first place. _You're in this mess 'cause you're a pussy and you're too afraid to admit that. Stand up for yourself just once._ He had stood up for himself plenty over the years. You didn't get to be the artist of a fucking decade, if you didn't stand up for yourself. He had to. He still got people telling him, he had no place in hip-hop. What the fuck! Whoever got on a verse with him, he would fucking murder and they knew it. He was no coward!

Just conflicted. _Conflicted my ass. Our yours, that ain't conflicted at all._ It's the same fucking ass! Marshall was looking up, but couldn't see anything else than the cover of Nicolas's book. This was getting nowhere. _Your fault. You could've had that dick inside your holes by now, probably more than once. But you had to play the virgin princess, hadn't you. Which, by the way, ain't a role that suits you, slut._ Not helping. He knew what he had done in the past. Well, mostly, probably. He was a bit hazy on the details, but the broad strokes he knew very well. He didn't need any reminders. On the contrary, he wanted his life to be better now than it had been in the past. Shouldn't that include being more scrutinizing about who he had sex with? _Tell your neck that. _Not his finest hour, true.

With a sound of desperation he sat up. Only mulling things over didn't do him any good. And it wouldn't actually count as spending time with Nicolas. _You mean, getting fucked by Nicolas. You earn your money with words, use them correctly._ "You wanna eat something?", he asked and unconsciously mimicked the hand movement that so obviously seemed to mean eating, putting his fingertips to his mouth as if to eat peanuts or something small.

Nicolas shrugged but closed his book. Enthusiasm looked differently.

But Marshall took it as a yes anyway and went into the kitchen. Footsteps followed him. He opened the fridge to get the food and heard a chair move, when he turned around Nicolas was sitting at the table. As he spread out the vegetables on the table he asked: "You allergic to anything?"

A small hand movement from Nicolas, not more.

Didn't look like much of an objection, so it was probably fine. Right? Marshall picked up some more utensils, so they could actually prepare the food and sat down himself. He started on the onions. _Don't you cry enough already lately? And so cliché, too. Be fucking original, homo._ Since when had he to defend his cooking? His daughters never complained, then his own fucking mind could just shut it. He happened to like onions, that didn't mean anything.

"You cook."

Marshall looked up. "Yeah? I got three daughters, they have to eat something, don't they." What a question was that? He was human, he had to eat. Why wouldn't he be cooking?

Nicolas tilted his head a little. "Expected fast food."

"Nah", he wrinkled his nose in revulsion. "Had too much of that. And it ain't good for you, you know. They put all kinds of crap in there you shouldn't eat. Preservatives and enhancers and sweeteners and hormones and shit like that. That just screws up your body."

Nicolas smirked. "You're a health nut or what?"

"No, I ain't", he huffed. "I'm just trying to raise my kids healthy. They should know how to take care of themselves, that includes food. Also, it's kinda fun to cook as a family, you know … But it's not like I only eat organic food or shit like that, that's too much work. I still drink way too many soft drinks, too." He shrugged, then he pointed to the second knife on the table. "You wanna grab that and help me?"

Nicolas took the knife and one of the peppers. "You like being a father, huh."

Marshall wanted to turn back to his onion, but stopped in the middle of the movement. Shit, did he talk about his kids again? You shouldn't bore a date with talk about your kids, that was just bad on all levels, that much about dating he knew. A short shrug and he cut the onion again.

"That's a good thing", Nicolas added. "There are already too many assholes for fathers."

He looked up again. That sounded like experience. "And for mothers, too."

"I wouldn't know." Their eyes met for a long moment. "My father sold me when I was twelve."

Marshall blinked disbelieving. "The fuck, what?" How was that a thing? That had to be illegal; as if that ever deterred people. Who did something this cold? To their own child of all things. He would never understand how people could treat their own family like trash like this. "I'm sorry."

A short nod. "We all have baggage." Apparently they did. Was that a good thing?

"When my mother found me kissing another boy, she got crazy hysteric and stuffed me with so many pills, they had to pump my stomach out." It only had gone downhill from there.

"That's fucked up." Nicolas hissed and sucked on his index finger.

Marshall watched him doubtfully. "Don't tell me, you cut yourself. You said, you do sword fighting."

Nicolas stuck his tongue out at him.

That brought a chuckle from Marshall. He stood up and fetched a band-aid from one of the drawers. "Let's see", he took Nicolas's hand in his own and dabbed a wettish dishtowel on it to clean the spit and blood away. "Doesn't look too bad." A small cut, not too deep, just like always fingertips bled too much. The band-aid was put on quickly. "See, already better now. Next time, be more careful, knifes are sharp." _Idiot, he's over thirty, He knows that knifes are sharp. You need to keep your maternal instincts in check, seriously._ He was just dealing with a wound, no big deal.

Nicolas looked at him with amusement.

Okay, maybe a small deal. Marshall let go of the fixed hand. "Well, I better do the rest myself." He sat down on his seat again and continued to cut the vegetables.

Head propped up on an arm, Nicolas watched him. The dark eyes rested on him, seeped into him and made his blood rush. He could feel the warm stare all over him, from his face, over his hands, to his chest where his heart beat too loud. Luckily, Nicolas couldn't hear it. There's one good thing about his deafness.

"What?", Marshall asked and raised his eyes. Yup, still looking at him and the intense stare made him shiver.

There was a warm smile gleaming in the corners of Nicolas's eyes. The shadows underneath seemed less than usual. "I like your honesty."

Baffled, Marshall looked at him, totally ignoring the preparation for their meal. "What?" His honesty? About what, that his mother was a crazy bitch? Not really news to anyone. That he loved his children? Shouldn't be news about any family. That he was an insecure fool? Not news to him either, but he tried his hardest to hide it. And recently he failed miserably at it. "I wouldn't call that honesty, it's more a lack of composure. Which I'm not really proud of", he admitted begrudgingly. He wanted to be in control of himself and that he wasn't made him angry at himself and that made him lose more control and - well, there's a cycle hard to break out of. _Be real, you're emotional and sensitive and you take everything to heart - like the shy little girl that you are. Your deadpan expression is a charade and a bad one at that. _Also, he was lying to a lot of people lately, trying to hide his rather dysfunctional attempt at being gay. That was the literal opposite of honesty. "Maybe you need to get your eyes checked."

A smirk. Marshall could feel, how fast he was falling for this fucking smirk. He loved it already. Stupid smirk. Stupid Nicolas. Even stupider Marshall. But Nicolas spoke in his soft bass: "You try to shield it, but your personality always shines through."

This did not sound like a compliment. Somewhat angered he said: "At least I have one. Your one single personality trait is an evil grin." So much for composure. _You really need to chill, if you want to suck his dick later._ He was chill, like an iceberg.

The smirk intensified. "You're adorable."

"The fuck? What's wrong with you!" He wasn't fucking adorable! _Totally agree! You're pathetic, that's way different. _His daughters in their beautiful bridesmaid's dresses had been adorable. _How's that the first thing that comes to your mind? _A grown man couldn't be adorable. That was preposterous. "Fuck you", he growled. He would show this stupid asshole, how fucking not adorable he was. As a rapper he had a reputation to hold up and adorable was not fucking part of it. _Please, don't try to be gangster again, that had been a terrible phase._ With more vigor than needed he cut the last vegetables.

Nicolas continued to watch him.

"Can you cut this shit out!", Marshall said flustered. "Don't you have anything real to do?" Why did he keep looking at him? That wasn't normal. _What do you know about normal? You're like the least normal person in your circle of friends, and that's saying something._ Nicolas should just go back to his book until the food was ready, goddamnit.

But the man stayed where he was.

Marshall kept muttering to himself. Sharply he stood up and busied himself with the pots and the stove. While he was cooking, he felt the dark, burning eyes on his back. He rolled his shoulders, but the uncomfortable feeling stayed with him. Why kept this fucker staring at him? He wasn't that interesting to watch, especially not his cooking. It was edible but he wasn't a master chef and he didn't aspire to one. Fine was good enough. No need to stare.

Adorable! What the fuck shat in his head! This whole weekend was embarrassing as fuck. First he made an ass of himself on their drive here, then he couldn't handle them making out and now - this! This whole boyfriend-thing was a mistake. He wasn't build for relationships, period. _You're too much build for relationships, little gay looking boy._ They should end it right here.

A short squeal came out of Marshall's mouth. Suddenly, without any warning at all, Nicolas stood behind him, wrapped his arms around Marshall's waist and kissed the nape of his neck. Unintentionally he leaned into those arms and exposed his neck more. Why did a touch from Nicolas feel so good? _Because you're falling in looove._ That wasn't normal, either.

"Idea." Nicolas's deep voice was so much too close to his ear, fuck. "No sex this weekend."

Marshall turned around instantly. "What? Why?" Was he so much of a turn off? Was Nicolas already fed up with him? He was too much, wasn't he? Too much work and too hesitant and ugly, too. Sex with him wasn't good enough to be worth all this effort, he knew that. Nicolas didn't need to tell him that to his face. _God, stop thinking, my ears are bleeding._ "We totally can, I swear. It's gonna be fine."

Nicolas didn't stop kissing his neck. "Relax. You think too much." _Annoying son of a bitch, is that all he can say?_ "Let's take the pressure off."

Terrific, Nicolas thought he was a sissy. _Well, he's not wrong …_ What could they do if not sex? Talking wasn't an option. What else was there? He didn't want to bore Nicolas and without sex, how else could he make it exciting for him? He shook his head. "It's fine. No pressure. Just, let's eat and we gonna try again. I'm probably just scatterbrained, 'cause I haven't eaten all day. That can screw with you, you know." _What the hell are you talking about? Your problem is not your empty stomach, homo, but how fucked up your brain is. You can fuck with random people just fine, but someone you like and everything goes to shit. You're a real piece of work._ He just needed to grit his teeth. It wasn't so bad after all, his ass certainly liked it … Maybe they could reverse roles? That'd make it much easier. If he could act confident and assured enough, that could actually work, that could convince the other. Wasn't like Nicolas hadn't been bottom before and he seemed to be fine with it. Why was he so eager to get into Marshall's ass anyway?

For a moment, Nicolas's lips were on his. "You're my boyfriend, not a whore I hire."

Marshall's heart tightened and his throat constricted. That sounded nice, too nice to be true, but he liked to hear it anyway. They only had had four dates until now and three of those didn't count, so there hadn't been much time for sympathy or affection to build between them. They didn't know each other at all and whatever that tingling sensation was Marshall felt with every touch, had to be only skin deep. Nevertheless, Nicolas's words sounded like he cared.

And his gentle kisses felt like it, too.

* * *

The TV was talking on low volume and the close captioning was on, but Marshall didn't pay the show any attention. He didn't understand this situation. This was supposed to be a weekend just two men hot for each other and he had expected it to be filled with sex and silence, like their time at the motel had been. This was supposed to be the same thing, just safer for Marshall's name. But nothing like that happened. They just sat on the couch and watched TV. If he wanted to do that, he could've stayed home.

Of course he was aware that this was his fault. He fucked it up, like he fucked everything up. If he could just get his poised demeanor to work, it would be fine. He only needed to take control over the situation and seduce Nicolas, then have sex with him. He'd done it the first time they met, he could do it again. He'd done it with some other guys before all this, that had worked out well enough. He'd done it with numerous chicks before any of this shit, even when he didn't want to, and that had worked out as well, mostly. Why couldn't he do it now? Why did he feel so fucking nervous? Why did it feel like his soul was exposed? Nicolas must've been able to see everything.

Right?

Marshall blinked. Where was this silence coming from? His head was never silent. Great, he didn't just put off Nicolas, he put himself off. And that meant something, his mind wasn't easily disgusted. Now he couldn't even argue with himself anymore. How would he sort anything out this way? If he was so bad that Nicolas and his own fucking mind turned away from him, how was anything going to be okay again? Whatever that meant for someone like him anyway. It's not like he wanted to be this exhausting. He would love to be normal and for these things to come as easy to him as they came to everyone else. A casual, slightly awkward flirt, that slid into some making out at the right moment and after some initial getting to know each other, they would end up having sex. Nothing fancy, just a bit of lust to get the hormones rolling. Then they would just do that again and again, until they would grow into liking each other as the actual people they were.

That's how it was supposed to go for normal people.

It had never once gone this way for Marshall.

And now, his usual way went down the toilet, fast. Hooking up with random people was easy, because you didn't need to see them again and because of that, it didn't matter if the time spend together was nice or not. There wouldn't be a next time to exchange complaints, so who cared? This time, though, he cared and did everything wrong. He turned Nicolas off so badly, the guy rather spend three days with him in silence than to have sex with him just once. What a confession of failure! How was he so fucking bad at this? He was human after all, shouldn't he have at least some basic instinct for this shit? Even for his instincts he was too fucked up.

_Calm down, jeez. What crawled in your ass and died? _Marshall led out a gasp of relief. _Aw, you missed me?_ Maybe things could go back to normal now. _You're never normal. But instead of spiraling down your crazy, how about you talk to the guy?_ How was he supposed to do that? He hadn't learned any sign language yet. _Figure it out. Better you talk to him, than to yourself. Start by explaining why you're so fucked up. He should know what he's getting himself into._ If Marshall knew why he was so fucked up, he wouldn't need therapy, would he now.

A silent sigh. He hated, when his head actually made sense for a change. That was always a bad sign. But he wanted to get to know Nicolas, that was one of the things this weekend should accomplish. And failed at miserably.

He took out his phone, opened the messages app and texted: sorry for the lame evening. I ain't much of a thrill seeker or shit like that

Marshall heard the quiet buzz of another phone vibrating, but Nicolas didn't look up. He just watched TV. Marshall rolled his eyes, so much for his brilliant idea. He nudged Nicolas's ribs and held up his phone.

A questioning look on Nicolas's face.

Marshall texted again: don't give me that. you don't like talking and I can't sign. so what else's left?

Another buzz from a phone vibrating. Nicolas finally took his out and read his messages. Another puzzled look to Marshall.

Marshall just looked back. Did he really need to spell this out even more? He couldn't be any clearer than he already was. But Nicolas turned to his phone again and began typing. Marshall felt a bit of triumph.

Then the message came in: you're an idiot

So much for his triumph, that vanished quickly. He answered: any better ideas? I'm all ears

Nicolas sighed deeply. Something Marshall didn't expect to hear from the man. He knew, this wasn't ideal and rather silly even, but he wanted to respect that Nicolas didn't like to talk and probably had a hard time understanding him. Lip-reading couldn't be easy and probably didn't get all the information anyway. There was so much to speaking that didn't involve lips, how was Nicolas to get that? It just didn't seem fair to give him all the burden of their communication mismatch. This way they were at least on equal footing.

Nicolas texted: fine, whatever. a texting date it is. you wanna have a dick pic too?

Marshall answered: let's save that for some other time. if this goes on long enough, I'm gonna be out of town, hell out of the county. makes more sense then

Nicolas replied: you're planning for our future already?

Marshall felt his ears warm up. _No reason to blush_, he told himself. As if that ever helped. He texted: you're the one who's insisting on this boyfriend crap, now deal with it

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nicolas's stupid sexy smirk. Then the answer came in: what can I say, I like you. got a problem with that?

Totally surprised he blinked at those words and asked: really? Now that he had sent it, he wanted to take it back. That was a stupid thing to say. He really could screw up everything. A talent he didn't relish in having.

But instead of sending back a text message to make fun of him, Nicolas bend over and kissed him. A tame kiss, not long either, but filled with fondness and … amusement? Not helping. Then the text came: you're adorable

stop saying that!, Marshall wrote immediately back.

Nicolas asked: why? are big bad rappers not allowed to be adorable?

Marshall answered: stop saying that, too. I'm not a big bad rapper. just a rapper of normal size and of normal … whatever the other thing means

Nicolas replied: I looked you up. you're very successful and with a lot of controversy. that's big and bad in my book

His head shot up and he looked at him. Nicolas looked him up? When? Why? What did he find? How much had he dug into it? Did he like Marshall now more or less than before he found out all the crap people wrote about him? Shit!

Another text from Nicolas: wasn't I allowed to?

Marshall's heart sank deeper. Why was his heart doing anything anyway right now? Steady beating, that's all it was supposed to do. He texted back: you can do whatever you want, man He kept his eyes focused on his phone, but he could sense that the dark eyes stared at him with their intense glare that sucked everything in. He couldn't, not now. This was bad.

Nicolas texted: your songs are intense, it's rather amazing

Marshall muttered under his breath and answered: you don't need to kiss my ass, I know my own songs, aight. just, be careful what you believe

There was another pause, more consuming stares, then Nicolas texted back: I believe that I like you, that's why I wanted to check out your music

Marshall typed: sure, whatever He paused for a moment, thinking about what he could write next. They needed to change the subject. This was not the way he wanted to talk about his music with Nicolas. Of course he had expected him to know who he was and some of the stories that came with that, at this point just about everyone he met knew him already or at least thought so. That was an occupational hazard. But at least Nicolas hadn't acted like it. It had almost felt like they were both starting at zero, but as always it was just him.

Was that why Nicolas was so uncharacteristically nice and considerate today? Why he was still here, even though he had already enough of Marshall? Because he knew, if he stayed long enough, he might get some good deal out of this? And there he'd thought … What had he thought exactly? That Nicolas could like him? Not just as a friend but as a lover? Who was he kidding!

Before he could spiral down this dark train of thought any further, another message came in: you're upset?

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. This was only getting worse by the second. He should've stayed home. But he answered: no, I'm not. just wasn't expecting that you care about my music, ain't like you can hear it anyway. so, whatever, doesn't matter Oh, Marshall hated what he just wrote, but he sent it regardless. This was a dick move and he knew it. And he still didn't look up from his phone. He didn't want to look Nicolas in the face right now.

It took a moment for the answer to come in: you're right, I don't care about music, but I'm starting to care about you

Marshall couldn't help himself as his thumbs moved on their own to answer: why would you? just let's end this right here, ok

A hand tightly gripped his chin and made him look to Nicolas. They kissed. This time the other bore more passion on his tongue, it almost felt like desperation and Marshall answered in kind. These lips sent a jolt of heat and sparks through his body, he couldn't resist.

When the kiss ended, they shared another long look. It was hard to see anything in a blackness that didn't let go, but Marshall thought he recognized tentativeness. He must've been wrong.

"I'm not going away", Nicolas said and after all this silence his low voice was like an assault on the ears. Then he began typing again.

Marshall's stomach fluttered. He jumped a little as his phone chimed with the new message: you're not driving me away just because you keep repeating I should break up with you. I'm not that easy to get rid off. I agreed to start a relationship with you and I take these things serious. I know you have issues, that was obvious the first time we met. but I'm no different. we all have baggage but that's not a reason to give up before we even tried

"Oh God", the small sob stuck in Marshall's throat.

Another chime and another message from Nicolas: you might be hard to handle but so am I. I'm mean and distant, I know that. I love to fight people, even when I lose, and when I know I win, I toy with them just because I can. but I want you to know: I take this serious and I like you. I know the feeling of self-doubt that makes you question everyone and everything. you're not alone

Weakly Marshall shook his head. More out of disbelief that these kinds of words came from Nicolas, than if they were sincere or not. He wasn't able to decide that by himself. He didn't trust good things. So he took a deep breath to steady himself and texted back: then why did you say no sex? that doesn't say you like me

Nicolas answered: is that all we're here for?

This time Marshall shook his head with more determination but before he could actually type an answer, Nicolas had another message for him: because it freaked you out so much. you're adorable when you're flustered but I don't want to scare you, just tease you a lil bit, you know

I noticed, Marshall texted.

Nicolas wrote on: and I know myself well enough. if we had sex all three days straight I probably gonna do something … say unconventional and I don't think that's a good idea just yet

Marshall frowned and texted: unconventional?

Nicolas sounded like his teasing self again: kinky easier to understand?

Out of surprise he looked up and said out loud: "Kinky?" But was only met with a shrug. Marshall sent his question: what kind of kink? This wasn't the first time he more or less shared a bed with someone kinky. Another case of statistics: if you do something plenty enough, you gonna find the more rare occurrences. But it hadn't done much for him so far, especially if he already had to focus his attention on being with a girl. That was hard enough on its own.

Nicolas answered: rough and mean. told you, I like to fight people and toy with them, goes for sex too

While he read those words a few times, Marshall scratched his neck. That sounded kind of ominous. He texted: and you don't want to do that with me, I see

Immediate response: I can't wait to do that with you. but I don't know your preferences, yet. and the last thing I want to do is to actually scare you

Marshall defended himself: you don't scare me

Nicolas pointed out the obvious: you almost had a nervous breakdown when I squeezed your ass

Fair enough. Marshall bit his lip. He couldn't really argue with that, could he. Especially since he knew he actually had broken down over this sort of thing in the last couple of weeks. Not something he wanted to repeat here while in Nicolas's company. For some fucked up reason he couldn't get a grip on himself and it was starting to annoy the hell out of him. It was just sex, no reason to freak out over. Even if he got the short end of the stick here, he should be able to soldier through. In the end, it did feel good, that was more than he could say about fucking some groupie. Why was it freaking him out so much? How much difference did it really make if he was fucking an ass or if it was his ass that got fucked? Either way he was having sex with a man - on purpose and with desire. Couldn't get more gay than that, could it?

Another chime of his phone. Nicolas texted: you got some kinks?

Huh, good question. Did he? He scratched the back of his neck again, thinking. Actually, he didn't care much about the how's of sex and hadn't really payed that kind of attention to it when some chick wanted to get crazy in some way. He just let her and went along as much as he needed to. But it rarely made the whole ordeal better. Rarely didn't mean never. So he started typing and it was easier to type this into a phone, than to see someone in the face and say it out loud. Who would've thought.

He texted: not really, I think? had some crazy chicks in bed before, didn't make it much better for me, though, so … but I'm open to try. rough doesn't sound bad, y'know. angry sex with kim had always been the best, it'll probably be a good change of pace to not actually fight but more pretend-fight or something. imagine that hurts less afterward, she packs a mean punch. I mean, she'd broken my arm once, that kinda takes the sexy out of it

Looking at the display of his phone he kneaded his lower lip with his teeth, still thinking. How much would be too much? Also, would Nicolas turn away if he went to far with any confessions? Liking one kink didn't mean one was open to all of them, right? But maybe one was more tolerant to their existence? Briefly he snatched a glance at Nicolas, who was looking at him. Of course he was, he kinda always was. Nicolas cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

So Marshall typed on: I don't think that's a good idea, cause of who I am, but there was this one time that felt really really dirty. I still sometimes jerk off to that … we were in the tour bus goofing around, the guys and me, somewhere on the road. don't remember. some chicks were there, too. one of them wanted me, tried to pull me away to the beds, but I wanted to stay with my friends, too much fun, y'know. but she was determined to have me for some reason, so she rode me right then in there, in front of everyone. I couldn't do anything to stop her. she wouldn't listen to anything I said, just she pinned me down good, I couldn't move an inch. she did her thing and got herself off, that selfish bitch, and left me hanging, man. in front of everyone. that was some dirty shit. but I can't do shit like that in public no more, so

He shrugged to himself. Funny thing was, he couldn't remember much about the girl herself, what er face had looked like or what her hair color had been or how her voice had sounded like. Except for all her movements, were her hands had been and how her hips had straddled him and how useless his own limbs had been. All of that was burned into his brain. So was the unmet desire after she had climbed down and the hot feeling of … shortchange? That was the best word he could come up with. How could she not gotten him off, too? Ungrateful bitch. He'd been this close anyway. How could he not, when all eyes had been on him?

Another chime of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. Nicolas had texted, of course: we gonna have some fun time together

Marshall looked up and once more saw this evil grin on Nicolas's thin lips, that made his spine shiver. What did that mean? He kind of felt this close to being eaten alive …

Another text from Nicolas: don't worry, we gonna ease into it

Marshall huffed angrily at that and wrote: don't baby me. I'm a grown fucking man, I can handle your stupid-ass kink, asshole

A quiet chuckle next to him. Marshall blinked. Really, Nicolas laughed. What was so funny now? Fuck this guy! And on that thought he texted: fuck you

Apparently unfazed by this, Nicolas asked: anything else hot and dirty you wanna share?

Did he look like he wanted to share? Stupid fuck. Marshall answered: you get off on that, kinky bastard?

Instead of another ping of his phone that told him, Nicolas had texted back, he felt a strong arm around his waist. It pulled him toward the other, until they sat together stretched out on the couch. He felt Nicolas's muscular chest against his back and Nicolas's strong arms lay around him. A kiss on the back of his neck.

Fine, whatever. Did it even make a difference? Probably not. He began typing: what you wanna hear? it's not as exciting as people think

Another kiss on the back of his neck. That wasn't a helpful suggestion. He started typing: I really don't know what you wanna hear. with groupies it's usually a fast and loose game, I don't really like to bring them up to my hotel room, so there's often not much place or time to get all freaky. although, once I shared a chick with Proof, that was hot as fuck. but with kim it was … difficult often enough. like I said, the best sex with her was usually an angry fight. oddly enough, that was our first time, too. we probably fucked it up back then already, who knows

Nicolas interrupted with a short text: do you like women?

His body stiffened, when he read the question. The answer wasn't something he said in earnest, ever. One of the perks of being him was to make so many jokes all the time that nobody really cared to take him serious at all. Somehow he didn't feel like joking right now. He answered: no

Marshall's hands, that were holding his phone, shook ever so slightly. Rough fingers rubbed over them. Another kiss on the back of his neck. They sat a moment like this, before Nicolas texted: me neither. tall ones are the worst

This brought an amused smile on Marshall's lips. He agreed: they totally are. what about your sex stories?

A soft bite into the nape of Marshall's neck. Nicolas texted: sure. when I was a teen I fell head over heals in love with this girl, veronica. well, only thing girly about her was that she didn't have a dick. she was older than me and so much stronger than me, it was frustrating and exciting at the same time. I didn't even know I was in love first, but my roommate made sure to point that out in graphic detail … the last time I saw her we spent the whole night high as the sky and fucked hard. we literally trashed the room, you know, punching each other, throwing each other around, things breaking. at one point one of us grabbed my katana und slashed me with it, that's the huge scar on my hip. don't ask me, if it was me or her, I don't know. but I do know how amazing the orgasm was, blood and everything. she was the most beautiful when she was covered in someone else's blood. after that, they made her leave the city, citing our health or some bullshit

Marshall couldn't believe what he was reading here. That sounded less like a sexy story and more like a domestic abuse complaint, maybe a murder investigation even. He turned around enough to look Nicolas in the eye. What was he getting himself into? Maybe he wasn't the most fucked up person on this couch after all. And maybe Nicolas was right, that could scare someone.

Nicolas texted again: it was way hotter than it sounds. I'm not good at telling stories

Marshall shook his head slightly and answered: that's okay. it's just … that ain't rough anymore. I kinda get the fighting part, but blood? and that scar looks like you could've died. that's too much, dude

Another soft kiss to the back of his neck. He knew Nicolas liked to tease and probably was a bit mean, that's what his grin suggested, but up until now he had been, well, gentle was probably the best wrong word. Not even remotely close to a story like this, that's for sure. This was … Marshall didn't know what this was.

Nicolas texted: I know

Once again, Marshall bit his lip trying to think, but not many thoughts gathered in his head. He asked: you still like people bloody? Could he get behind something like that? He didn't know and he was a little unsettled by himself that he was willing to find out. Nicolas's story didn't sound like a kink, not in his ears at least and, well, he had once sworn to not get into bad relationships anymore. He dreaded the answer.

Nicolas sent: not like my scar, no. I don't leave permanent marks, but blood's still enticing

Marshall led out the breath he unconsciously had held in. No permanent marks also meant no life-threatening wounds. That was a relief. He could probably learn to live with that. He wrote: okay then, it's worth a try


	19. Woke Up In a Dream State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day of their weekend rises. Marshall and Nicolas cuddle in bed.

Early morning sunlight was shining through the curtains. Marshall buried his face deeper into his pillow, the bed was so warm and comfortable right now. Couldn't he just stay here? The pleasant weight of an arm lay across his back and as he nestled closer to the body next to him, he let out a deep humming noise. God, he had forgotten how nice this was. He opened one eye and saw the outline of Nicolas's face right beside him. Strands of black hair falling onto his face, the usually furrowed brows smoothed into an expression of melancholy, the thin lips slightly parted, teasingly, invitingly. It was too early and too cozy for inhibitions and he just gave in to his impulses. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on them, savored the tingling they caused. Fondly his fingertips stroked over the other's jawline, feeling the pale skin underneath. He could get used to waking up like this.

The hand on his back pulled him closer, the lips answered his kiss slowly and still a bit sleepy. Their bodies now touched with every patch of skin, so close he felt Nicolas's chest raise with every breath. Warmth radiated from the scarred body and made the whole world feel like a summer afternoon. As if the sun itself was beneath the skin, warming and pacifying the disorder of Marshall's mind. Right now, he let it.

Their legs tangled themselves up, trying to pull each other even closer, to feel even more. Again this deep, satisfied humming purred in Marshall's throat as their groins connected. Nicolas's half hard cock rubbed against his skin, causing a short but rousing tremor to sizzle through his limbs.

The thin lips, now awoken, kissed him deep and the tongue teased him by exploring his mouth but evading his own that so desperately wanted to be danced with. Marshall leaned more into the kiss and sighed at the savoring movements the other employed, seemingly to discover everything that there was about Marshall's lips and tongue and mouth to be known. As if this was the most important thing in the world right now.

On his back Nicolas's hand moved with slow strokes, caressing the skin and sometimes pressing his fingertips into the hard muscles, tracing the bones of Marshall's shoulder blades and his vertebrae and his ribs. Rough skin scraped his own. With all the time in the world, the hand moved down, careful to map every inch of his back.

A pinch into his ass cheek.

Marshall moaned low between their lips. Immediately he felt his own arousal rise and press against the body that was too close. His first impulse was to push himself away and his fingers clawed into the muscular chest. But he didn't want to ruin it again. He wanted Nicolas to like him. This man was not just sexy and hot and tasted too good to pass up, no, this man was also fast and dirty crawling through Marshall's defenses. The thought that somebody could like him in this way and the way Nicolas sounded closing the distance between them despite the short time they've had so far, it made Marshall miss the feeling of being loved. He could almost imagine this feeling, but without real reference points it was but an echo in the hollows of his chest. Perhaps, so a small voice said almost inaudibly, perhaps Nicolas was the one person who could love him. After all, wasn't there supposed to be one such person for everyone? Surely, just one person in the vastness of humanity could be able to love him? He hoped to God, this wasn't impossible.

He hated to be alone. And Nicolas made it seem like they could actually be together. Like he wouldn't care about the troubles that plagued Marshall's mind, sometimes even trying to ease them and it almost felt like he might be able to. That his mean grin was what Marshall had needed to find happiness in. He didn't even know what that meant.

His body tensed nonetheless. His breath shook as he exhaled deeply, but their lips still close together. There had been many things in his life he had done without wanting them, there had been many people he had been with and not felt remotely this thrilled - this should come so easy. Why wasn't it?

He willed his attention to his own hands, his fingertips were still clawing the other's chest. Then, he let go of the tension in them, straightened his fingers and concentrated on the movement of shallow breathing beneath them. The warm, scarred skin underneath his fingertips filled him with calm. Nicolas was built from muscle, strong and ready to fight and Marshall wanted to believe, just for this fleeting moment he wanted to believe Nicolas would fight for him, too. Hadn't he said, this was serious for him? Just one morning without the world falling apart around him because he wanted to be with a man. Just one single morning.

His hands stroked and caressed the pale skin, traced some of the scars with his fingertips and imagined that Nicolas had them because he'd protected Marshall, saved him from a terrible stepfather or a cruel bully or his hysterical mother or the disgusted look on Ronnie's face ... He leaned deeper into the kiss, their lips and tongues melted together. Slowly, savoringly his hands moved down and when they reached the other's abs his breath hitched for a second. Fuck, this felt good. From here it didn't take long for his hands to feel their erections lying close together. He stroked them and rubbed them together, sighing softly into their kiss. This felt so fucking good.

Nicolas's hand still massaged his butt cheek and he hated how amazing it felt, heat spreading from the fingertips, that dug into his flesh, to the rest of his body. Marshall bit his lip by the sensations he felt. Now in the morning light and without any rush, it all seemed more present, more pressing, more ... just more of everything. He wanted it and he hated himself for it. But right now he wanted to enjoy being together with someone. His teeth cut into his lower lip even more. Nicolas's tongue licked the same exact spot. Another intimate kiss.

This was all they did and for Marshall it was wonderful. If he drowned in their kisses now, it would be a happy death. But he didn't, not quite at least. Whenever Nicolas's fingers grabbed on too tight, sometimes he even could feel a little stretch on his hole, that longed for more. Marshall bit his lip again, stronger every time. But it all mingled with the sensations coming from their erections rubbing together and it felt so right. Their kisses started to get sloppy and erratic, tension built in their limbs, their moans mixed into each other.

As their orgasms eventually came, it wasn't taking their breaths away, it wasn't an adventure. But it was a serene, lovely moment, downright meaningful because they were trying to be more. This felt like they could be.

Marshall couldn't help but watch Nicolas's face, these lips and especially his eyes. How did they not reflect anything? He bit his lip and felt the dull pain of irritated soft skin. He really needed to stop that or his lips may fall off.

He rolled over and grabbed his phone. He needed to know something, so he asked: why you wanna get in my ass so badly?

A phone buzzed. But Nicolas looked at him with a strong hint of annoyance. Very purposefully he rolled his eyes, as if to really make sure Marshall saw that. After a moment longer he finally snagged his phone from the bedside table and read the message. Now questioning was added to his expression, but he typed a reply: you like that

no I don't, Marshall immediately texted back.

A quiet thud was audible as Nicolas's hand with his phone hit the mattress. His face said: Come on, I know you do. No signs or words needed.

Marshall's ears heated up under the stare and he kneaded his lower lip with his teeth, it hurt a little and he really needed to stop that. Then he answered with a bit more thought: I don't need this, it's bad enough already. my ass doesn't call the shots here

It took Nicolas a while before he began typing. Marshall couldn't stomach the stare, so he just looked down on his phone, waiting for an answer. Hopefully an apology, he'd like that.

Nicolas's words were not an apology: you're a bit oversensitive about this

"Hey", Marshall said out loud and kicked the other's shin.

Nicolas kicked him back just a childishly and added: it's a sex act, no need to read anything into it. you do know, that straight men can also enjoy having things up their ass? it's not like there's gay copyright on it

Unsure about himself, he scratched his neck while he read those words a few times. Now he felt like an idiot. He kinda knew, after all that's were this stupid hospital joke came from, that someone 'slipped and fell' into a bottle or appliance or whatever ass first and now needed the emergency room to get the thing out. It was a funny joke. Somehow he had never connected the dots. He texted: even if! my ass surely doesn't enjoy it because it's straight somehow, we both know that

Nicolas answered: you really are an idiot. even lesbians like anal. that has nothing to do with you being gay. it's a sex act not an identity

Marshall blinked surprised: you're kidding

Nicolas wrote on: and some gay men don't like it and don't do it. it's really not that big of a deal. if you don't want me to, I won't. seems like a waste though, your ass certainly is in to it. a lot

Not just his ears, his whole face heated up. God, he shouldn't have asked!

But Nicolas wasn't finished yet: sex is more than shoving your penis into some hole. or getting a penis shoved into your hole, for that matter. there's plenty more to do and I'm fine with that, don't worry. I just see how much you enjoy it, but if your ... issues are in the way to really let loose, than it's not worth the trouble

After he read the last word, Marshall buried his face in his pillow. This was so embarrassing. He not only got schooled on sex, which probably was fine, but he got schooled on his own pleasure, too. He was almost forty, he should know what he liked and didn't like in the bedroom by now. Which he did. He knew himself well enough, thank you! He knew how much his ass enjoyed the attention, for a lack of a better word. He may be an idiot, but not stupid or numb.

His phone beeped. Please, no! This conversation needed to be over. He never should've asked. Why did he ask? They didn't know each other well enough for a conversation like this. Nicolas should just shut up.

But he dragged his phone to his still buried face and peeked: can I ask what the problem is? maybe I can help?

Marshall sighed deeply. This nice Nicolas really wasn't his thing, he wanted that mean smirk back. Slowly his thumb typed: no one can, but thanks

A warm hand stroked through his hair. A slow movement, a comforting touch and after a couple of moments he felt his heart calm down and his cheeks cool off. It really was nice to have someone next to you, who cared about you and shared that with you. Who was just there, because you needed them to.

He raised his eyes to his phone again and wrote a bit more: I'm fucked up, like, really bad. it feels like I'm ripping to pieces, like there's acid inside me burning through my guts, like if I don't stop this I'ma dissolve ... I know it's stupid. gay, lesbian, transgender, whatever - nothing of that means anything. you are who you are, that's it. but ... I can't stop my head from telling me I'm a worthless cunt. that I'ma lose my daughters and my friends and my music - everything. myself. that I'm a disgusting fag and a slut with a loose pussy, which the whole ass-situation backs up way to good for my liking. that I don't deserve ... I don't know, it's not like my life's all bad, it isn't, but ... I just want to be normal and I can't

The hand kept stroking him with that slow, comforting touch. A soulful kiss on his shoulder. The warm body lay skin close to his own, as if it belonged there. As if all of this was ... true. He buried his face into the pillow again.

"Normal is overrated." Nicolas's low voice was directly at his ear, sending a soft shiver through his limbs. Another kiss on his shoulder. Then a gentle pull, that rolled Marshall onto his back. A kiss on his lips, affection on the tip of their tongues. The hand still caressed through his hair. Their eyes met once more. "Don't be normal. Be you."

A wistful smile was on Marshall's features and his fingers played with the strand of Nicolas's hair that was always falling into his eyes. "I don't always know who that is."

He placed a kiss on Marshall's wrist. "You just are."

"You make it sound simple", but Marshall knew it wasn't. Nothing was ever simple. So many people relied on him. He had to care for his daughters and give them a good life. Money alone didn't make a home. He had wasted so much time by working too much, by getting lost in drugs, by destroying the relationship with Kim, instead of being a good father to his children. Now that he had his life in order, he could not have it slip away from him again. Also, he had a label to build and artists that needed his guidance and careers he wanted to see flourish. They counted on him to save their own families. He could not fail them. He needed to be strong.

But he felt weaker than ever. Right now, he wished so badly he could give in to all of this. Just once he wanted to feel loved and cared for, like someone wanted to be with him for his own sake. Being with Nicolas tricked him into believing that was possible. Even if he didn't deserve it. But if he gave in, who would he be? Could he still be a father? Could he still make music? Could he still help others find their way?

"It is simple", answered the dark voice he could listen to all day. Nicolas's hand fondly touched Marshall's face, dragging the fingers along the bones of his cheeks and jaw. "You think too much." A kiss on the tip of his nose. "What do you wanna do? Right now, what do you really want to do?"

That seemed like a weird question. He already did, what he wanted to do, even though it was wrong. He was here instead of home with his daughters, instead of making sure they didn't throw a party and didn't get into any trouble. How stupid had he been to leave them with Ryan of all people. Sure, he was his friend, maybe even best friend now that DeShaun couldn't be here anymore, but still Ryan was an alcoholic. That was the dumbest ide-

"Don't think", Nicolas interrupted, "What do you want to do, right this second?"

Marshall blinked briefly. "Play basketball", was his answer. That sounded so good. Felt like he hadn't played in ages, damn. "But we don't-"

"Good, basketball it is", Nicolas interrupted him again. Another kiss, then the man got off the bed. Marshall's eyes followed his appetizing backside as he walked to his bag and took his clothes out.

Marshall heard the quiet and familiar rattle before he saw the orange plastic in Nicolas's hands. A bottle of pills. He cocked his head and his eyes followed the movement of nonchalant hands and a disinterested jaw chewing a few of them. Then their gazes met. He cleared his throat and asked: "You, uhm, are you sick or something?"

Nicolas shrugged with his shoulders and threw the bottle of pills back into his bag. Then he slipped into his clothes.

Marshall stood up from the bed himself and put his clothes back on. More importantly though, he took his phone in his hands and gestured Nicolas to type his answer. It's not that he was tempted by seeing Nicolas handle a couple of pills, but he needed to know. He would never let down a friend in need or push somebody away for having a problem, being it pneumonia or a heart condition or addiction or anything else. All if it were illnesses and he'd stand by his friends. But he couldn't take the risk to be surprised.

Nicolas still was visibly annoyed about texting. Nothing Marshall could be considerate about now. This was important, he never wanted to go back. So he typed: I don't want to pry into your life, I really don't, but I'm two years sober from prescription drugs. it's not a big deal right now, but I need to be on top of this. can you understand?

A warm hand rubbed his neck gently. The answer came in: sorry, I forgot. my mom was a drug addict, didn't get clean when she was pregnant. the pills help with seizures and stuff

"Oh." He hadn't expected that, although he wasn't sure what kind of answer he had expected. But before he could write a reply, Nicolas put the phone in his pocket and pulled Marshall out of the bedroom. Well, seemed like this conversation was over and he couldn't exactly say he was sad about it. Playing basketball sounded like a much better time, if he was honest.

Of course he had a hoop in the backyard and a ball ready to go. Even though Marshall's technique was better and he had a much easier time with the ball in his hands, Nicolas was fast and strong, not above shoving and cheating if it helped him. They reached a surprisingly balanced score and Marshall enjoyed their game full heartedly.


	20. Gangsta. #01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, the two sit down for dinner and almost talk about their friends.

The curve was almost invisible. The dark jeans didn't care about the form of his crisp ass, neither did the dark t-shirt that hid the muscles of his back too well. A slender body beneath the heavy fabric and it toned down how impressive he actually was. Every time he saw the man naked, he was surprised again. Even though he had slept next to him and touched every patch of skin, felt the muscles underneath his fingertips, Nicolas still couldn't believe how stunning he was. Even less, why he hid it underneath clothes that had no form and no color.

Not that he himself was a good example of well dressed, not by a long shot. He didn't actually care about clothes. Most of his attire was for work or belonged to Worick - or maybe he just took back from his roommate what was rightfully his, who knew at this point. But he could get behind caring, if he had something this gorgeous to look at. The ass alone was like perfection. The curve fell at the right angle, the cheeks firm and so sensitive, it was a delight. Nicolas wondered how it'll look with a bright red imprint of his hand on the lightly tanned flesh.

But he had a feeling, that would need to wait. The man was fickle like a cat. One moment he was distant and aloof, the next moment he demanded all the attention. Moody as hell, too. Relaxed now, annoyed immediately after and a second after that he was sweet like strawberries or cracking a joke. He wanted to be petted but not touched at the same time, and got pissed if things didn't go his way. Often he tried to show a laid-back, disinterested exterior, but he was a feisty little minx underneath. Though, if the moment was just right, he'd have this satisfied, blessed expression on his face that just warmed your body and soul.

Luckily, Nicolas liked cats.

Marshall bend down to pick something up from the floor. A piece of green vegetable that had fallen out of the pan. One leg half stretched to keep balance while the other stood firmly on the ground, his upper body bending down, a tattooed arm reaching for the floor and fine fingers picking up the offending piece of food. Nicolas couldn't help the image, that formed in his mind: Marshall bend over the kitchen table, those same fine fingers clinging to the wood for dear life until the knuckles would shine through. He would take that for dinner.

Also something he was surprised by: He actually cooked, again. Nicolas would've been fine with a sandwich or just something to drink, but Marshall insisted on cooking their meal. He did look good in front of a stove, Nicolas had to give him that. Although, he had the feeling, Marshall wouldn't appreciate the wording of this compliment. In general he seemed rather apprehensive when complimented, almost shy even, despite the confident poker face he put on most of the time. A delicious sight, when it fell apart. But Marshall still stood there and cooked, regardless that an act this caring clashed with the image of ice and steel he tried to portrait in most of his songs. Nicolas took it as a sign, that he was allowed to see more.

Which he found also surprising. Almost everything this man did surprised him, which peaked his curiosity even more. Then again, they hardly knew each other and he made his assumptions on rather weak grounds. But he was very sure, Marshall guarded his true self harsh and fierce. Often he bit down a smile, an adorable gesture but also one that told a sad story. A story his songs captured well but perhaps not fully and Nicolas hadn't looked into it too much. He had looked up a handful of songs to be prepared. Marshall's eyes had practically glowed when he'd said _musician_ and Nicolas was sure, that was something the man would love to talk about. He seemed rather talkative, gabby even - which made it all the more sweet when he was at a loss for words. But music wasn't Nicolas's thing, besides the occasional concert Worick dragged him to. The translations he found for Marshall's songs though, intense. The man undeniably had a way with words.

Now said man turned around and brought the food over to the table and when Marshall stood close to put a plate in front of Nicolas, he could see the greenish-yellow tint on the man's neck. The remnants of a hand, that wasn't Nicolas's and by now he'd come around to admit, the tight knot in his stomach was jealousy. Marshall's neck seemed so fragile. Often obscured by the hood of a sweater, but now it wasn't. Just that beautiful, fragile neck and the short cropped hair, that revealed more than it hid. If Nicolas raised his hand, he could touch the soft skin, lay his fingers around the wiry throat and squeeze, press his thumb into the triangle of muscles and feel the struggle for air.

To see how someone else had beat him to it, angered him. The small silver lining was, that this mark wasn't the result of passion but pure violence. Nicolas could empathize with the need to destroy something this ravishing, the need to make this man writhe and twist in pain, the urge to take him apart, delicate piece by delicate piece. But he also wanted Marshall to be filled with lust. It had literally taken his breath away the first night he saw it. He'd almost come just by the sight of this man being lost in his own sensual bliss. So much passion and emotion lived inside this athletic body and when he gave in to lose control of himself, it all just burst out of him.

Sadly, he had a hart time giving up control of himself. Something, Nicolas would be teaching him in the not so distant future. But first they needed to build trust and establish their relationship. Not that he cared much about relationships, especially romantic ones, Nicolas could live without and had so for just about all of his life. It was obvious, that Marshall needed it, though. Both those things.

Of course trust was important for what Nicolas wanted to do with this man. They needed to be sure in what they did and that they wanted it and that if it went sour, they'd had a lifeline. Otherwise a lot of pain awaited and this wasn't the kind of pain Nicolas was fine with or even wanted to cause. So, trust they would build.

The relationship on the other hand wasn't strictly needed, not for sex and not for trust. Nicolas wasn't exactly sure how to build one. A relaxing weekend seemed like a good start. When he'd come home, he'd have to ask Worick for advice. Not that his roommate was any better with relationships but at least he faked them regularly, that should give some hints. Without one, Marshall would never relinquish control - not freely and not for long. He craved to be in a relationship, that much was clear. Just the boyish delight in his eyes, when Nicolas had agreed to actually date him, was enough to tell you that. How domestic this weekend felt further cemented this conclusion. That Marshall was regularly jumping to call this off, was another paragraph to the sad story of his. He wanted this, but couldn't allow himself to have it. And Nicolas just wanted to see him smile more often.

Which was a new thing for him.

The food tasted well as they ate. Not that Nicolas had a distinguished palate and he rather have meat than all this green stuff, but it was good and Marshall cooking for him felt rather sweet. It wasn't necessary by any means, just something the man wanted to do for him. Something Nicolas didn't experience often, but nevertheless something he happened to enjoy, turned out.

Halfway through the meal he noticed the by now so familiar shifting in Marshall's body. Nervousness. It was barely visible, not really a movement but the tensing of muscles, which were well hidden underneath the dark clothes. The bright blue eyes darted around the room, always lingering on Nicolas for a moment too long and then flitting to somewhere else, just to come back a second later. Much like a young kitten prowling around its prey, but not yet able to pounce on it. It had been really easy to decipher what this meant: Marshall was thinking hard about something. Another easy conclusion was to be drawn, that he was thinking too much, specifically about negative things. He seemed to have a proclivity for that.

To get him out of his own mind, Nicolas decided to tease him a little. Under the table he raised his foot and started to stroke Marshall's shinbone with his toes. That should distract him.

The eyes focused on him, permanently. Their color was dazzling, the bright blue of a clear winter sky and with the extremes of one, too: usually ice cold, sometimes to the point of freezing you with a glare, but also sunny and warm whenever he spoke about his daughters. More mesmerizing was the sight of them filled with lust, when they glowed like ice under a full moon. Nicolas just wanted to howl, then, and swallow him, devour this beautifully sprawled body underneath him, that always held on tight as if that could prevent him from drowning in his desires. But Nicolas was going to push him all the way in, promise. Alone these lips were worth the trouble of dating. A light shade of pink, the upper lip perfectly arched into a cupid's bow and adorned a voluptuous lower lip, teeth sucking it in and kneading it distractedly. When he spoke, the lips moved sharply und quickly. Always an invitation to be kissed rousingly and it was Nicolas's pleasure to answer their call. So he leaned over the table and kissed that sweet, sweet mouth, a hand rubbing Marshall's neck gently.

It was a long and heartfelt kiss.

"What was that for?", Marshall asked slightly out of breath.

Nicolas sat back down, but only answered with a shrug. As he picked up the fork, he put his foot back against the man's shinbone, stroking it with his toes again.

Another tug on that lip as Marshall bit down one of his smiles. A good sign, but they needed to work on him not suppressing his pleasure like that. "You, uhm, is the food okay?"

Nicolas fought back a chuckle. He was sure, this was neither what Marshall wanted to say, but also that he wouldn't appreciate him laughing at the question. It was a little puzzling how easily the man made him laugh. His life didn't leave much room for these kinds of things, but here, with him, it seemed so simple, so normal. As an answer he took a big bite of their dinner.

Marshall reached for his phone and typed. Nicolas felt the small vibration, as the message reached the phone in his pants. He could live without. Of course he understood why the man insisted on this mode of communication, still it annoyed him. They were sitting right in front of each other, but writing made them seem so distant, as if each of them inhabited their own little universes and only a tin can telephone connected them. Nicolas was hard working against this distance.

He read the message: so, you said, you have a roommate. does he work in security, too? you're good friends?

That was an easy and at the same time rather difficult question, both of them. Some caution was prudent. Nicolas answered: sometimes, we share a small business doing independent work. security is just one of the services we offer. he frequently works as a gigolo

Marshall replied: gigolo? but you don't do that, do you?

There was a frown between Marshall's eyebrows, probably already thinking too much again. So he texted back quickly: no, I don't. I'm bad at pretending and I don't connect well with people. he's easy and charming, just fits him well

Marshall wrote: then you're good friends? having a business together and all

There now was the question: How much to reveal at this point in time? Trust needed honesty and honesty needed truth. Same went for relationships, that much he knew. But there was such a thing as too much truth and too much honesty. He carefully chose his next words: we're best friends, I'd say. known each other since we were teens, ran away together and made a living on the streets eventually. I probably would've died a few times if it hadn't been for him. but there's been a lot of hardship, too, that we caused each other. that's what happens when you're close with someone

Marshall tilted his head as he read the message. It should be obvious from the words, that there were some stories to tell, some bad, painful stories specifically, but that it probably was too early to share them. Stories about death were always hard to share. Nicolas was sure, the man understood a predicament like this, since Marshall hadn't told his story either. Nicolas still didn't really understand what Marshall's problem was, only that he was hurting pretty bad. Which made him want to protect the man. Seeing him close to tears, as he had been this morning, drew all tender feelings Nicolas hadn't lost yet to the surface. He was totally besotted with Marshall. If he'd still knew what fear was, this might've scared him.

Then Marshall's text came in: sounds like the right kind of friendship, the one where you trust each other even when it hurts ... I lost someone like that a few years ago and I miss him every day

Nicolas decided, he needed to read a book on comforting people soon. Marshall seemed to be a never ending well of sad stories. But right now he would have to wing it and hope for the best, so he answered: would think so. I can't imagine a life without him, that's ... I don't know. I wish you wouldn't have to go through that

Next message: me too

The sadness was obvious, even tactile in these two so simple words. If he reached out, he could touch the raw hurt beating in Marshall's chest. For a split second Nicolas wondered, if he should be here. If he should move any of this further along and possibly end up causing the man more hurt, only because he wanted to raven this heart-stoppingingly glorious body and see him break with lust. The side of him that craved blood now growled eagerly at the thought of how he would leave a sore, aching hole in the man's soul. The image was delicious but miserable. He rather have Marshall smile than cry ...

Nicolas stood up and walked around the table. Briefly he squeezed Marshall's shoulder, then pulled him up from the chair and into a hug. He found, words rarely expressed well what he wanted to communicate. They just didn't connect to him. One of the reasons he liked to read was, so he could learn new words and maybe find some that did the job well or just find a phrase that finally said, what needed to be said. But sadness like this, how could words capture that? For anyone. Though a hug, that he understood to be soothing. The feel of somebody else, who stood firm and held on when oneself seemed to fade away, that Nicolas knew to be helpful. Regardless of how awful the feeling of being so helpless was, sometimes things were just horrible, no amount of fighting could change that. Not being and more importantly not feeling alone was the only good left then.

Marshall leaned into him and returned the hug shortly, before pulling away from him again a second later. The man scratched his neck and instead of looking at him, Marshall looked to the table and their food. "I should clean this up", he said, lips barely moving.

Nicolas shook his head. With a strong grip he pulled Marshall with him into the living room, onto the couch. He felt the man struggle, but wouldn't give him any leeway. Finally, they sat, or more lay on the couch together and Nicolas stroked the other's back with a light touch.

In the end, a boyfriend was also a friend and what a crappy friend would he be, if he let Marshall feel alone right now?


	21. I'm Just a Fuckin' Romantic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their romantic weekend is over. Next morning, Marshall has to recount everything to his curious family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is St Nicholas' Day, which seems oddly fitting.  
Where I live, we have a tradition of getting a little gift and candy stuffed into our boot at the morning of St Nicholas' Day. So, here is a little gift for you.

At night the small house seemed almost invisible. Marshall couldn't make out the entrance and there was no light in any of the windows. He turned his attention to Nicolas, who was gathering his stuff. A short touch on the other's shoulder, so he would look at him. "Thanks for the weekend. It was really nice to get out of the daily grind, you know."

Nicolas nodded. Still, Marshall found that frustrating. Texting had given them the opportunity for some conversations, some lighthearted and some much less so, which generally he was grateful for. He couldn't be with someone and not talk. He just couldn't. Although, the darker conversations he could've done without. Since he used writing as a tool to clear his head, it had been easy to write too much. He had been embarrassingly open the last three days and even though a relationship needed that eventually, this felt too much too early.

"It was a good way to spend my birthday", he added, "I usually don't do anything special, so this was really nice." A little time for only himself. Nothing to do with his daughters or his work, on both he spent about almost every waking hour. This had been only for himself, because he wanted to be with Nicolas, nothing else. Maybe this hadn't been the worst idea after all.

"Birthday?", Nicolas asked surprised.

Marshall nodded: "Yeah, today's my birthday."

Nicolas leaned forward and their lips met into a long, intense kiss. Then the dark voice said: "Happy birthday."

Marshall couldn't help the smile. "Thanks", he whispered back.

Then, Nicolas got out of the car and went to his house. Marshall waited until he couldn't see him in the dark anymore, and waited some more until he saw light in one of the windows.

Their weekend was officially over.

* * *

Marshall was surprised to see the foyer in, well, in orderly condition. Just as he had left it. He had expected some chaos, maybe a minor disaster of cups and scraps of food, some tumble of furniture. Even all the pictures were still hanging on the wall along the stairs as they were supposed to. His steps led him into the living room. Low snoring came from one of the couches, Ryan slept there. Everything else looked as always, no stains on the carpet as far as he saw right now.

His daughters could clean up really well, when they wanted to. He was impressed.

Since he didn't have the heart to wake Ryan up, he just draped a blanket over him and let him be. He'd been a really good friend. There weren't even beer bottles to clean up after him. Did he really stick to the no-alcohol rule Marshall had set up for the girls? That was sweet of him.

He left the living room and went upstairs. After checking up on his girls, who all slept soundly in their beds, he went to bed himself.

* * *

The morning rose early and Marshall with it. After a round on his treadmill and a good shower, he stood in the kitchen and made some sandwiches. There were a lot of mouths to feed today. He wondered, if he needed to wake Whitney up himself or if she would listen to her alarm clock. Usually he could say that from the way she went to bed the night before, but that wasn't available information right now.

Hailie was the first to walk in. "You're in a good mood", she said and snagged one of the sandwiches. "I take it, your weekend went well?"

"It was nice", he tried to sound nonchalant. "What about yours?"

She grinned briefly. "It was nice." As she came closer, he ruffled her hair in response. But instead of pushing his hand away or fixing her hair up, she just hugged him. "Happy birthday, Dad."

"Thanks, Hai-Hai", of course he hugged her back and gave a kiss to her temple. What else was there?

She sat down at the table. "So, you gonna give me some details now? Or are you still insisting that you don't have a girlfriend and don't really date?"

With his glass of water he sat next to her. "There ain't much to tell, honestly." He propped his head up on one hand and looked at her. "Was a nice weekend. I made a fool of myself a couple times, the usual, that's all."

Hailie let out a dissatisfied sigh, like a teacher who has to explain the same equation for the thirtieth time. "Details, Dad, details. Is she nice? What does she do? That sort of thing. Come on, spill the beans."

"I don't know", he shrugged. "It's still really new and everything. I don't wanna get ahead of myself."

"Breakfast." Ryan seemed surprised and relieved. He sat down and grabbed one of the sandwiches. Chewing, he asked: "So, how was the weekend?", of course looking at Marshall curiously.

Hailie answered before he could: "He says, it was nice, just nice."

"Sounds boring. What did you do for three days, sit on the couch and watch TV?"

"Kinda", Marshall shrugged once more. "It's one weekend, what d'you expect?"

Ryan took another big bite of his sandwich. "Something hot and steamy would be a good start."

Hailie crinkled her nose. "I don't need to know that."

"I agree, no one does. - Oh, Lainy, Whitney, morning." A welcome distraction from this unwanted subject. He should've seen a conversation like this coming, probably, it still was uncomfortable.

After they gave him his birthday hugs, the two girls sat down at the table and ate from the sandwiches as well, although Whitney less ate hers and more nibbled at it lazily. At least she'd come down herself, that was an accomplishment.

"How was the weekend?", asked Lainy.

Marshall rolled his eyes. Of course she had to ask, too. "Nice, it was nice."

"Apparently, it's too boring to tell", Ryan interjected not very helpful.

"It wasn't boring, just ... uneventful in a sense." How to get them off his back? "I hope, it was the same here, uneventful? At least you didn't trash the place, if that ain't something."

Lainy shook her head. "I told you, just a couple of friends and some karaoke. Nothing big and nothing to get all dad-like paranoid about."

"True, they were good little girls", Ryan grinned briefly. Marshall wasn't sure what that meant and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. "But really, you watched TV the whole weekend? That's not what a romantic getaway is for, you know that, right?"

"Of course I know that", Marshall grumbled. "We just took things slow, you know, watched a couple movies, played basketball, took a swim in the lake, stuff like that."

Whitney let out a short squeal. "You swam in the lake? That's freezing!", and she shook her whole body to punctuate her words.

"Was pretty cold", he agreed.

Ryan raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Was that at least a pretense to get all hot and steamy?"

"Please don't", Hailie interrupted him. "Can't that portion of the story wait until we're in school?"

Marshall shook his head. "That portion of the story ain't gonna get told at all." That portion of the story didn't really exist. On the one hand it might've actually been a good idea and gave them more room to focus on just spending time with each other; on the other hand he still thought he turned Nicolas off too much and this whole thing was this close to being over. Which might or might not be a good thing, he couldn't decide.

"Good. Then you can get to the part I care about." His daughter looked at him with curiosity and demand.

He sighed. "I told you already, there ain't nothing to tell." He shifted under her stare. Oh, he always had a hard time saying no to her. "Well, what exactly want you to know anyway?" That's it, he might as well come out now and have it over with. _Great idea, that's a way to ruin her day_.

"Don't you listen? Is she nice? What does she do? How old is she? Does she have kids, too? How did you guys meet? Stuff like that." She seemed to get impatient with him. That didn't happen too often.

He sighed once more. How was he to phrase this inconspicuously? He didn't want to lie to them, which he would do if he spoke about a she. "We met through a dating app", he began. Well, not telling them that it really wasn't a she, was also kind of lying. He hated that so much.

"Really?", asked Lainy. "An app? That doesn't sound like you."

He shrugged. "So? I can learn new tricks." He rubbed his neck trying to play for time. But to no avail, all three of them looked at him with their cutest smiles and biggest eyes. "Well, the profile says 34 and that looks about right. No kids as far as I know. Uhm, what else? Work, right. Mostly as security at a pretty high-end night club."

"At a night club?", Hailie repeated skeptical. "Somehow that fits you well."

Marshall looked at her quizzically. "Does it?" _Since it's actually a whorehouse, yup, fits you perfectly, little slut._ He hadn't known she payed any attention to where he went to have fun. Going out wasn't his thing much, but strip clubs he did enjoy, only occasionally of course. _Come on, it's too early for lying, fag. You talk about that in interviews, why be shy now? _Not that he told his daughters that.

"Isn't that dangerous?", asked Whitney. "She won't get hurt, will she?"

Marshall shook his head. "Don't worry, Nicky's tough and hard as nails." The nickname didn't really fit Nicolas, but it would have to do in front of his daughters.

"You forgot the most interesting part", Ryan jumped in, "Nicky", he put more emphasize on that nickname than was necessary, "is deaf."

Marshall looked to his friend exasperated. Why did he have to say that? That wasn't interesting, only a hell lot of an inconvenience. Also too telling information, since he only knew one deaf person. Luckily his daughters didn't know that, still Ryan needed to be more careful.

"Deaf? So she can't hear you talk? That's useful", Lainy mused. "Then she won't get annoyed with you not shutting up. Cool."

"Hey, be nice. I made you breakfast", he scolded his daughter. _She's right, fag. He doesn't have to listen to you, that's a big, fat plus. I wish I wouldn't have to listen to you._ "And I can shut up, if I want to."

Lainy shrugged. "That's what they all say."

"Dad", Hailie said impatiently. "Stop dancing around the subject. How is she? What's she like? Since when are you so bad at telling stories, I mean, really."

One more sigh. "There ain't much story to tell, Hai-Hai, that's why. It's all pretty new still, we're just getting to know each other. That takes time."

"But you like her, obviously. Can't you tell us at least, what you like about her? I'm dying here, Dad. Give me something."

Marshall smiled a little about his daughter. She was cute when she got flustered. It made her look younger than she was, like the little girl she was slowly growing out of. "One thing, okay? One thing and you don't ask me again, aight. Deal?" She nodded, almost falling of her seat. So cute. "Okay, well, one thing I like, uhm ... Nicky has this mean, sexy grin. It's so ... That just gets me every time, you know." _His hard dick's better though, buried deep inside your hole. A whole weekend and nothing! What a damn waste!_ He was talking to his daughters, for fuck's sake.

She blinked at him disbelieving. "A grin, that's all? You couldn't go for something bigger or more meaningful than that? Sometimes you're really unfair, Dad." She pouted, it made her look even cuter.

"You wanted to know what I liked, that's the first thing I noticed", he shrugged.

Lainy looked at him doubtfully. "A mean grin? You're weird sometimes, you know that?" He raised his eyebrows at her, so she continued: "Usually guys say, she has a beautiful smile or something like that. But a mean grin?"

He wrinkled his nose. Beautiful smile, only bad romance novels said stupid stuff like that. _You're not that far off, though, homo, be careful._ "Well, I ain't saying something that ain't true."

"But she isn't really mean to you, is she?", asked Whitney. "No one messes with our dad or she's going to have another thing coming."

He tousled her hair. "Don't worry, Sweetie Pie, that grin's just for show. You know, the same way Daddy sometimes says mean things in a song - doesn't make me mean, right. It's not real, it's just a game."

Whitney nodded. "Then it's okay."

"Well, don't you girls need to go to school? 'Cause I need the hot and steamy part of the story now, so you better go", Ryan warned amused.

The three girls jumped out of their seats talking over each other and rushed out of the kitchen. Knowing that their dad was dating was one thing, knowing that their dad was having sex was a completely different kind of beast - one neither them nor him wanted to air out.

Marshall shook his head, finally eating one of the sandwiches himself. "We didn't do anything hot and steamy. I would say sorry to disappoint, but I ain't really sorry for you."

"Seriously? Come on", Ryan huffed unbelieving. "You only know each other because you hooked up and then you have a whole three-day-weekend for yourselves and nothing? Don't be stupid."

"Then don't believe me, I don't care."

Ryan looked him over curiously. "Really, you two didn't do anything? Why not?"

Marshall swallowed hard. "None of your business." But he could see, Ryan wasn't buying it. "We decided to take things slow, you know, talk and get to know each other. That's all. Is that a crime now?"

"I still don't understand why. You can't talk _and_ have sex? Besides, you two can't talk, he's deaf, you explained that at length to me."

"Well, we found a way. Texting is a thing these days, that works well enough for now."

Ryan cocked his head. "Texting?", he asked bemused. "If you say so. And you went along with the idea? You don't usually hold back. Must've been hard, three days with someone you want to fuck and can't." It almost sounded like a question, but it felt more like probing around a suspicion. It made Marshall's skin crawl.

"What do you think I am?", he huffed with a bit of fake anger. "Some kind of sex addict or what? I'm perfectly fine just spending time with someone I like, with or without sex, okay. It's not a big deal." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Ryan shrugged, but didn't look away from him. "I don't know. I mean, you sneak out to motels and meet people from the internet for sex. Hell, you pay more for sex than you actually flirt with people. It just seems weird, you wouldn't do anything if you had a chance like this. Like, I mean, he was served to you on a sliver platter for three whole days and nothing? That doesn't sound like you, that's all."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do", Marshall growled.

"Well, maybe. Or maybe you really like this Nicolas guy", Ryan smiled at him. "Good for you."

Marshall grumbled low and bit into his sandwich.


	22. Text Messages (Skit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assortment of text messages between Marshall and Nicolas, some light hearted, some less so.

Nicolas: thanks, dude. I never gonna live this down

Marshall: what?

Nicolas: my new nickname

Marshall: ?

Nicolas: hickey-nicky. everyone on staff today saw that thing

Marshall: you're welcome

Nicolas: next time I'll make you one

Marshall: thanks, but I can do without. my friends gossip enough as it is

Nicolas: thought, you didn't tell them about us

Marshall: I didn't. but somehow everybody knows I have a girlfriend now. apparently I glow. their word, not mine

Nicolas: I thought only pregnant people glow?

Marshall: god, don't tell 'em that

Nicolas: I suppose brides would also glow

Marshall: you're making it worse

Nicolas: I'm making you happy

Marshall: not right now you don't

* * *

Marshall: I hate the internet, tell you that much

Nicolas: ?

Marshall: stupid cat videos

Nicolas: they're adorable

Marshall: you like that word, huh?

Nicolas: if it fits. you don't like cats?

Marshall: not if I have to get out of my tub

Nicolas: you can bring your phone with you, you know. just don't throw it in

Marshall: haha, I know that. doesn't work that way when my daughter needs to show me something. something important, she said

Nicolas: cat videos aren’t important to you? what an affront!

Marshall: bite me

Nicolas: where?

Marshall: you have to lift the sex ban first

Nicolas: nah, I love breaking the rules

Marshall: well, I do not love cutting my bath short

Nicolas: then don't. cat videos aren't exactly a rare occurrence these days

Marshall: that's what I said. but she just had to bang and shout against the door for like twenty minutes

Nicolas: sounds very relaxing

Marshall: and I had such grand plans for tonight, man. kids, sometimes you wonder why you have them

Nicolas: grand plans for your bathtub? I see

Marshall: not live, you haven't earned your invitation yet

* * *

Nicolas: rise and shine, ice princess

Marshall: fuck you. it's 3am

Nicolas: I'm bored, distract me

Marshall: fuck you. I'm sleeping, plan to, whatever

Nicolas: then turn off notifications

Marshall: shut up

Nicolas: are you dreaming anything dirty?

Marshall: you'd like that, wouldn't you?

Nicolas: sure would. beats standing in the rain

Marshall: why are you standing in the rain?

Nicolas: drew the short straw, I'm the lookout tonight

Marshall: lookout?

Nicolas: work, boring. what are you wearing?

Marshall: nothing exciting

Nicolas: oh, you naked? that's very exciting. photo?

Marshall: you know me naked

Nicolas: and I don't wanna forget it

Marshall: ain't a lookout supposed to, I don't know, look out? not stare at his phone

Nicolas: I rather jerk off to you

Marshall: google it, internet's full with that

Nicolas: that's not very romantic

Marshall: jerking off to me is romantic?

Nicolas: it's not? I think about you when I come, can't get more romantic than that

Marshall: okay, that is sweet. a little

Nicolas: photo? I'm waiting

* * *

Marshall: you got a nickname? besides hickey-nicky

Nicolas: it's mostly nic or nico. nothing special, just lazy

Marshall: you like them?

Nicolas: I don't really care. why?

Marshall: I like Nicolas better. did you know it has the word for victory in it?

Nicolas: you looked my name up?

Marshall: so? you looked my songs up, now we're even

Nicolas: victory is better than a marsh, so I win

Marshall: it actually means something with horses. and Hailie has hay in it, obviously

Nicolas: you matched your daughters name to your own?

Marshall: what? at least I got creative. if she'd been a boy I would've called her hayden or philip probably. it's better than to be the fourth in line with the same old name

Nicolas: not eager to carry on the family tradition, eh?

Marshall: not for a family I don't care about. my father only stayed long enough to name me and then left. doesn't really make me wanna give it to my own kid, you know

Nicolas: you still kinda did

Marshall: it is my name after all. I had to give her something from me, don't you think? well, something better than ears that are too big

Nicolas: you have big ears? didn't notice

Marshall: I grew into them

Nicolas: cute. do you have pictures?

Marshall: sarcasm?

Nicolas: horsy doesn't fit you though. not calling you that

Marshall: why the hell would I want that?

Nicolas: ain’t that why you're telling me this?

Marshall: horsy, that's stupid. it's marshall mostly. my family used to call me brucie when I was kid

Nicolas: I'll think of something better

* * *

Nicolas: can I borrow your car? only for an hour, two tops

Marshall: what for? what's with your car?

Nicolas: I don't have one, I don't drive

Marshall: you can't drive? then you can't have my car, dumbass

Nicolas: I can drive just fine, but they don't give you a license when you have seizures occasionally

Marshall: don't you have medication for that?

Nicolas: don't matter to the dmv, it's too much of a hassle to convince them otherwise. ain't worth it

Marshall: what you need my car for then?

Nicolas: need to drive my roommate over with it

Marshall: yeah, living with people can be a bitch. what happened?

Nicolas: he wore my shirts again, now I need to buy new ones

Marshall: can't you just wash 'em?

Nicolas: he's too tall, he always stretches them out. and one of his clients slashed her nails through it. looks like he got mauled by a tiger - or cougar, actually

Marshall: tough luck then

Nicolas: so, can I borrow your car or not? I'll be careful, no scratches, no blood stains, I’ll give it a thorough once-over in the car wash. I'll even take the plates off first. they won't trace it back to you, you'll be in the clear, I promise

Marshall: that's a lot of work for a joke?

Nicolas: I can't use my sword, police ain't that dumb. we live together, I'll be the first one on the list

Marshall: I mean, you are joking, right? it's just shirts

Nicolas: maybe I can use his gun, make it look like suicide. that's so tacky though

Marshall: you have to be joking! ain't you two friends or something?

Nicolas: mostly

* * *

Marshall: reading sucks balls, man

Nicolas: you're reading?

Marshall: trying to. how do you do it?

Nicolas: passes the time

Marshall: no, it doesn't. feels like I'm at it for hours and it's only been five minutes

Nicolas: and you're texting me instead

Marshall: thanks captain obvious

Nicolas: why anyway?

Marshall: more fun than a stupid book

Nicolas: not that. the book, why? you're not the reading type

Marshall: not in the slightest. only ever finished one book. and what I read to the girls when they were little

Nicolas: sounds sweet. did you do voices?

Marshall: they asked for it. it made them laugh, that’s why

Nicolas: sure. must've been a chore, I bet

Marshall: shut up. just tell me how you do it

Nicolas: get the audiobook, that's more up your alley

Marshall: my alley?

Nicolas: you're a sound-kinda guy, right?

Marshall: guess so. doubt there's an audiobook for this stupid thing, though

Nicolas: movie?

Marshall: I wish

Nicolas: what weird book are you reading over there?

Marshall: it's educational

Nicolas: educational? yeah, right, sounds like porn

Marshall: oh fuck you, who reads porn?

Nicolas: you

Marshall: I watch porn, that's the way god intended it

Nicolas: what porn are you in to?

Marshall: none of your business

Nicolas: I think, having my tongue and my dick inside you kinda makes it my business. don't you agree?

Marshall: no. you haven't had your dick inside me for almost a month. you'll have to work for the privilege to know my porn habits

Nicolas: then tell me what you're really reading? if it's not porn

Marshall: if you need to know, it's on sign language

Nicolas: why?

Marshall: so we can talk better? eventually, hopefully

Nicolas: you really are adorable

Marshall: fuck you

* * *

Nicolas: the cat's here again.

Marshall: maybe you should adopt her? have her as a pet, you know. she seems to like you

Nicolas: don't I have you for that?

Marshall: I ain't a cat

Nicolas: you cuddle like one

Marshall: fuck you

Nicolas: I don't know. I never had a pet before, not a real pet anyway

Marshall: it's not really hard. feed her, clean up after her and play with her. that's easy enough. but be careful, eats up your money real fast

Nicolas: you have a cat? should've seen that coming

Marshall: his name's tiger. we also have a dog called lottie

Nicolas: you have a full house

Marshall: so? I want my daughters to have a good home and grow up right. pets teach them responsibility, that's important

Nicolas: that explains a lot, I can't even take care of a cactus

Marshall: how do you screw that up?

Nicolas: I forgot that I have it. interestingly, even a cactus dies without water after a while

Marshall: won't happen with a cat. if you forget her, she'll teach you a lesson, a very painful one

Nicolas: maybe I just put some food at the door for her. I mean, she's used to having her freedom, being a house cat probably just makes her sick. don't you think?

Marshall: maybe give her a collar with a tag. then people know, she belongs to someone, not that animal control picks her up or something

Nicolas: a collar? I can do that

* * *

Marshall: you won't believe where I'm at right now

Nicolas: hanging from a stripper pole

Marshall: what?

Nicolas: I'm daydreaming. repairing conny's shop is boring

Marshall: you dream of me on a pole?

Nicolas: I have many plans for us, you know

Marshall: you do?

Nicolas: you're hot as fuck! I can't wait to bend you over a table

Marshall: you could've, back at the lake

Nicolas: not yet. be patient

Marshall: for what?

Nicolas: we've only been officially together three weeks or so. patience

Marshall: so? we didn't know each other three seconds and fucked. no big deal

Nicolas: I want to chain you to a bed. I want to make you mine. to make you writhe beneath me. to make you lose yourself in lust and pain because of me

Marshall: ... I just wanted to know if you're into antique books

Nicolas: oh. not particularly. I read everything, doesn't need to be special

Marshall: don't you have a favorite author? or genre? or series? something?

Nicolas: not really. I don't like comedies all that much and I usually have fun with horror stories or historical fiction, the action kind

Marshall: I'll keep that in mind

Nicolas: are you freaked out now?

Marshall: why? because you wanna chain me to your bed and whip me?

Nicolas: I didn't say anything about a whip

Marshall: sure, that's the important detail

Nicolas: I could, if you like. but I actually don't have a bed, we might have to improvise there

Marshall: you don't have a bed? where you sleep then?

Nicolas: chair

Marshall: you're not that small. that can't be comfortable

Nicolas: it's very comfortable. it's cozy and has cushions and it's mine. if I need to stretch out, I take the couch

Marshall: yeah, not me dude. if I ever stay over at your's, that couch better be a quality daybed or I'm outta there

Nicolas: who are you, the ice princess on the pea?

Marshall: tease me all you want, I like my bed and it's a real fucking bed

Nicolas: whatever you say, ice princess

* * *

Nicolas: you're right, books suck

Marshall: since when? I thought you liked reading

Nicolas: depends on the book. this one sucks

Marshall: what is it?

Nicolas: educational

Marshall: haha, very funny. did your favorite character just die or what?

Nicolas: I don't get attached like that

Marshall: seriously, you don't have a favorite character? ever? anywhere?

Nicolas: it's fiction = not real. why get attached?

Marshall: why’re you reading then?

Nicolas: passes the time

Marshall: I watch TV for that, still I have favorite characters

Nicolas: cause you care

Marshall: what does that mean?

Nicolas: that you're a human being with a beating heart and feelings inside

Marshall: and you ain't or what?

Nicolas: not enough to care about fictional people. or most real people for that matter

Marshall: you have to care about some people. your roommate? that singer girl? your friends? family?

Nicolas: never had much of a family and I don't really have friends either. like I said, I don't get attached like that

Marshall: my therapist would call that a serious problem

Nicolas: so does the book. that's why it sucks

Marshall: they're probably right

Nicolas: you're not helping

Marshall: what book are you reading? sounds serious

Nicolas: some psychological bullshit on trauma and grief and bla

Marshall: why? did something happen?

Nicolas: I met you

Marshall: I'm not that bad ... ?

Nicolas: I thought it'd be good to dust off my people skills

Marshall: looks like they need a good scrub down. what are you talking about?

Nicolas: I want you to trust me

Marshall: and you need to read a book for that? what jedi mindtrick are you going for?

Nicolas: it's on trauma, not brainwashing

Marshall: I can deal with my own shit. is that why you're so nice lately?

Nicolas: nice?

Marshall: you hugged me for like an hour the other night

Nicolas: you were sad, I'm your boyfriend. isn't that how this works?

Marshall: not if you need to read a book first

Nicolas: I don't know how to comfort people. the last time I tried, it ended in bloodshed

Marshall: someone else than that girl? does everything end in blood with you?

Nicolas: that's why I'm reading this book

Marshall: that ain't an answer. you almost sound like a serial killer or some shit

Nicolas: ... kinda?

Marshall: what? explain

Nicolas: it's my job, security at a brothel is business going slow

Marshall: not making it better. explain.

Nicolas: we should do this face to face

Marshall: we'll text anyway. explain. now!

Nicolas: fine. we get hired for all kinds of jobs, as long as the money's good: repairs, deliveries, as bodyguards, stuff like that, also less legal things

Marshall: what does that mean? less legal things

Nicolas: well, I used to work for a mafia clan. so you can probably imagine what that means

Marshall: ... you're a hitman? seriously? is this one for your bad jokes?

Nicolas: I don't joke about stuff like this

Marshall: you have to be kidding me! really? a hitman?

Nicolas: you wanted me to explain. there you have it

Marshall: I need to think

* * *

Marshall: gym tomorrow 5:30am

Nicolas: really?

Marshall: you're not the only person with a rap sheet in this relationship

Nicolas: really?

Marshall: listen to my songs, I'm not just a pretty magazine cover

Nicolas: I know that. still, most people get away from me, not closer

Marshall: I'm not most people

Nicolas: evidently. I'll be there

Marshall: and don't pull your punches this time

Nicolas: it's just training

Marshall: I can hold my own, you know

Nicolas: I'm aware

Marshall: apparently you ain't. you're handling me with kid gloves. I hate that

Nicolas: no, I'm not

Marshall: yes, you are. you won't fight me seriously, you won't have sex with me, you water down your job for me. you're treating me like some fainthearted virgin or some shit. stop that!

Nicolas: I do no such thing. I'm trying for us to get to know each other. isn't that supposed to be a good thing for relationships?

Marshall: you think you're scaring me. that's the definition of kid gloves

Nicolas: what's your point?

Marshall: just don't. I'm a grown-ass man, I can handle my fucking own. and I can handle you

Nicolas: I know you can

Marshall: start acting like it. if you want us to get to know each other, then stop holding yourself back. I don't want to get to know a fake you, I want to know the real you

Nicolas: this is the real me. I can be nice to people if I want to

Marshall: but you usually ain't. and you're only nice to me, so I'll like you

Nicolas: wrong way around. I'm nice to you, because I like you. of course I want you to like me back, that's not a crime

Marshall: as if you care if something's a crime or not

Nicolas: figure of speech. point is, I like you, moody and high-maintenance and short-tempered and all. but be real, I can't introduce myself as Nicolas the hired gun, can I

Marshall: moody and what now? that doesn't sound like you like me at all

Nicolas: I'm not like most people either. I don't want a wife with 2.5 kids, a picket fence and a dog or some shit. I want a challenge and that you certainly are

Marshall: a challenge, that's what I am to you? you do know, that I have kids and a dog and a fence around my property and I like it that way

Nicolas: I know. it's one of the things I find adorable about you

Marshall: fuck you. stop saying that

Nicolas: it's true. it's a compliment

Marshall: not out of your mouth

Nicolas: what you mean?

Marshall: you like blood and fighting, in your job and in your books and for sex too. but you do not like adorable things

Nicolas: sure I do. I like cats for example, they're adorable as fuck. and my doc's niece is the cutest, I often play with her, you know

Marshall: you do? didn't know you liked kids

Nicolas: not in general, but she's a nice kid. look, you're more than a pretty magazine cover, so why can't I be more than a violent asshole? I'm just good at what I do, doesn't mean I'm only that

Marshall: sounds familiar ...

Nicolas: gym 5.30am, I'll be there

* * *

Nicolas: you're eerily silent this evening

Marshall: I'm pissed, that's why

Nicolas: wanna go to the gym and beat it out of your system?

Marshall: don't tell me what to do!

Nicolas: just a suggestion

Marshall: I kinda already did that. got me only more angry

Nicolas: couldn't tell, you're chill like an iceberg

Marshall: don't fuck with me, dude. I ain't in the mood

Nicolas: why're you so pissed?

Marshall: let's leave it for now. I don't wanna take it out on you. text you later

Nicolas: it's okay. I won't take anything personal, I promise

Marshall: you can do that?

Nicolas: I hardly take anything personal as it is. I surly can manage a couple mean words from you

Marshall: I broke my game, that's what happened

Nicolas: you broke your game?

Marshall: yeah, I broke my game. can't you read? I broke donkey kong of all things

Nicolas: I'm not sure what you mean by that. how you break a game?

Marshall: it was a little broken already. the jump button stuck sometimes, I was meaning to get someone to fix it. but at least I could play. now I can't anymore

Nicolas: can't you use a different controller?

Marshall: not that, it's an arcade machine, you know, like back in the day

Nicolas: oh, I see. would've thought they're sturdier though

Marshall: they are. unless you attack them directly, which I did after it ruined my run. fucking stupid-ass button

Nicolas: let me get this straight: you're playing your game, then the button gets stuck and you lose the game, so you assault the machine and now you're moping because that broke the machine entirely? are you 12?

Marshall: fuck you! that could've been my best run yet! I didn't have much progress in my scores for months now, this could've gotten me out of the rut. but NO! the fucking button decides to DIE on me! it did that on fucking purpose, I tell you! can't believe it DARED TO FUCKING DIE ON ME!

Nicolas: that's a bit melodramatic, don't you think?

Marshall: shut the fuck up! I lost my run and I can't even try and re-do it cause the machine's fucking broken. fucking shit!

Nicolas: play something else?

Marshall: I need to finish my run, like properly finish it. I can't play something else now, what'll happen to the run? I hate this fucking button

Nicolas: tough luck, you broke it

Marshall: I didn't mean to! I just lost my temper. no reason for the fucking thing to die on me

Nicolas: sounds like a bitch. ain't there a normal version you can play in the meantime? on your computer or xbox or something?

Marshall: it's nintendo, dumbass. and that is the normal version

Nicolas: you know what I mean, play like a regular person on your couch

Marshall: that's fucking lame

* * *

Marshall: I need your help. you need to explain something to me, for asl

Nicolas: it's 3am, go to sleep

Marshall: I would love to, but I can't. I can't figure this out. can you help me or not?

Nicolas: you're really serious about learning asl, aren't you?

Marshall: if you call me adorable again, I'll punch you

Nicolas: you want my help or not?

Marshall: ... fine

Nicolas: nah, if you expect it, it ain't fun

Marshall: will you help me now or not?

Nicolas: what's the problem?

Marshall: topicalization. what's the difference to passive? or is that the same thing? the book ain't clear on this

Nicolas: what?

Marshall: I see the difference in english: I won't eat that pizza. that pizza I won't eat. that pizza won't be eaten by me. passive is in the verb plus the word order. is there a passive voice or sign in asl?

Nicolas: I have no idea what you're talking about. sorry

Marshall: can you say "that pizza won't be eaten by me" in asl or is it "that pizza I won't eat" with like the eyebrows and stuff?

Nicolas: what's the difference?

Marshall: it's in the verb. but maybe it's different in asl, that's my question

Nicolas: looks the same to me

Marshall: you're not helpful.

Nicolas: sorry, I don't really see the problem

Marshall: the problem is who's active. if I say "that pizza I won't eat" then I'm actively not eating that pizza, but I use the topic to emphasize on that very specific pizza. if I say "that pizza won't be eaten by me" then no one's actively doing anything, the pizza will just exist uneaten

Nicolas: why won't you eat the pizza? you allergic or something?

Marshall: it's just an example, don't take it literal

Nicolas: I could go for pizza, honestly. wanna meet for a slice?

Marshall: at 3 in the morning?

Nicolas: why not? doesn't look like you're going to sleep anytime soon

Marshall: ... okay. maybe I can get an answer out of you in person

Nicolas: I doubt that. I have no clue what you're on about

Marshall: how not? you use both languages

Nicolas: exactly, I use them. the hell do I care what the difference between passive and topic is. but I don't think I use passive in asl often? if that helps anything

Marshall: I find better examples and we go over them while we eat

Nicolas: ugh, sounds like school

* * *

Nicolas: the fuck, look at this. ain’t this hilarious?

Marshall: what's that? your mug shot?

Nicolas: yeah, my wanted poster from when I was 17. man, I was a scrawny little kid

Marshall: you still kinda are. you're smaller than me

Nicolas: I'm tall enough, asshole. don't act like you're a giant

Marshall: you don't look much different now, you're hair is like an inch longer or so, that's all. well, and your face has more edge now, I give you that

Nicolas: I know. you should see my roommate, day and night, total baby face back then. don't fall for that, I warn ya. I'ma use his for something, will come in handy somewhen, somehow

Marshall: you had a wanted poster with 17, though? sounds young to me

Nicolas: that's just the one still hanging at the station. don't know why they use this old thing. doesn't even show my rank correctly, bastards

Marshall: your rank?

Nicolas: it's a thing we do, so you know who's stronger. curbs unnecessary fighting. if someone's like six ranks above you, you better scram, you know

Marshall: I see. so, you rank higher now?

Nicolas: of course. A/0

Marshall: like grades? impressive then, sounds like a lot of hard work

Nicolas: comparable

Marshall: still, 17? it lists your record as mug, murder and blackmail ...

Nicolas: told you, that's what I do. I ran away with 12, you need to survive somehow. I couldn't let my roommate do all the work, could I?

Marshall: of course, still, that probably wouldn't've been my first move

Nicolas: I just stick to what I know ... you wanna change your opinion now? I would understand. I'm aware that this is, let's call it unusual and a bit difficult to get used to

Marshall: no, I'm not changing my mind. I'm just a bit surprised, I guess. like, with 17 you're still a kid, you know, and to have a record then. like this, too, I don't know, probably I'm just kinda sad your life was like this. still is, I guess

Nicolas: if it's any consolation, I never went to prison

Marshall: hardly

Nicolas: you don't have to be sad for me. I consider this a good outcome, you know. I could've easily died at birth or as cannon fodder as a kid. but I didn't. I'm double the age now than as I was in this photo, back then I would've never thought I'd live this long. so, I consider things went quite well for me

Marshall: I see your point. doesn't make me feel better though

Nicolas: ... thank you for caring, like at all. that's ... just, thank you

* * *

Marshall: hey, where you at?

Marshall: you're on your way or what?

Marshall: you standing me up?

Marshall: are you okay?

Nicolas: he's gonna have to rain check later

Marshall: what's going on?

Nicolas: he pushed too hard, had a seizure, now he's sleeping

Marshall: who're you?

Nicolas: his roommate

Marshall: what happened? where's he? can I see him?

Nicolas: look, I don't have time for this. he'll text you later

Marshall: you will make time, damn it!


	23. Wrap You Up, Put You in a Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is right around the corner and Marshall's throwing a costume party. Does he want to invite Nicolas or not?

"I have a question for you", Ryan announced. He lounged on the couch in the studio and scrolled through something on his phone.

Marshall sat on the other couch, feet planted on the edge of the low table. "Shoot", he mumbled only half listening. His eyes were fixed on the screen of his laptop, he was searching for new cassette tapes to add to his collection.

"Did you invite Nicolas to your Halloween party next week?"

Marshall's head jerked up. "Hell no! Are you crazy? Why would I do that?"

"Because he's your boyfriend and you're throwing a party?" Ryan looked up from his phone. "Do you need classes on how relationships work? You were married twice, didn't you pick anything up from that?"

"Shh!" Marshall looked to the door anxiously. "Don't say that here." _Why not? They already know. Your fucking panic attacks are too exhausting. Just get over it, fag._

Ryan snorted dismissively. "Relax. I'm careful, trust me."

Marshall grumbled some curse and closed his laptop. "No, I don't need classes, I know how relationships work, thank you very much. I just ... I don't think this whole thing is a good idea, that's all." _You're such a coward, homo._

"Do you like him?"

Marshall nodded. "Maybe? I think so." _More conviction, girl, you're all wet and open for his dick. We all know that. Stay true to your calling, fag._

"Does he like you?"

Marshall shrugged. "I think so? Maybe." _Have faith, bitch, he's still texting your stupid ass. Whatever it is, he ain't giving up on fucking you. Who says, homos don't get lucky?_

"Then it's a good idea." Ryan came over to his couch and sat next to him. "I get that you're hesitant and stuff, but don't give up too early. Be bold, be brash - you're good at that." He bumped his fist softly against Marshall's shoulder. "So, back to the topic at hand: Invite Nicolas to the party."

Marshall wasn't convinced. "Why? He won't know anyone and he ain't the social type. What would he gain from coming here and spending a night at my office party?" Which it basically was. Everyone from his label and the studio was invited and Marshall was pretty excited to have some of his favorite people all in one place. _You're such a needy bitch, it's almost cute. _Didn't happen too often. But to throw Nicolas in there? That didn't sound like much fun. _Depends on the party. Gonna be some easy dicks there, that won't be picky about which hole to fuck. That'll be a lot of fun, won't it slut?_

"Because he likes you. I'm pretty sure he'd like to meet your friends. You know, see you in your natural habitat."

Marshall frowned. "What am I, a rare animal?" _You're a common slut, there's nothing rare about that. _He shouldn't listen to Ryan. What did he know about dating a guy? _What do you know about dating a guy? Or about dating at all. You can't hold on to a relationship even if your life depended on it, you always fuck it up. Literally._

Ryan smirked. "Kinda. Come, invite him and you can enjoy your party even a little more than you already will."

"And if he says no?", he asked. _Stop with your stupid overthinking already!_ "If he thinks it's a stupid idea as much as I do? We've been only doing this thing for like three weeks or so. It's too early for a fucking party. He'll say no, I'm sure." _Argh! You're killing me, fucking homo. Just get his dick inside you and shut up._

"Well, then you can tell him, it was my stupid idea and you can both laugh at me. Come on, just text him", Ryan insisted.

Marshall sighed heavily but pulled out his phone. He texted: had a stupid thought just now: I throw a halloween party next week, wanna come? Then he looked at Ryan: "Happy now?"

"Very", his friend nodded. "And, you two sexting goes fine?"

Marshall nudged his elbow into Ryan's ribs. "Shut up. We don't do that, only normal texting, aight. Nothing sexy, nothing dirty." _Such a waste! The guy's hot. And kinky. Get your goddamn freak on already. _That wasn't what they were trying to do.

Ryan grinned and joked: "Are you getting chaste in your old age, Marshall? Look at you, all sweet and shy." _See, he, too, knows you're full of shit. It's making me fucking sick._

Marshall shoved his friend almost from the couch, only almost, because Ryan was too burly. Then his phone chimed with Nicolas's ringtone. Yes, he'd given Nicolas his own ringtone, he knew how girlish this was. _If the high heel fits ..._

Nicolas replied: sure. when, where? I'll be there

Marshall was surprised. "Really? Just like that?"

"Told you", Ryan said in a very pleased tone.

Another message from Nicolas: with costumes?

Marshall texted: yeah, with costumes. it's probably gonna be boring though, just a bunch of guys at the studio drinking too much, y'know

_I know a game to spice things up. It's called: How many cocks fit into this chicken? Guess, who the chick is._

"Hey hey, don't do that. He wants to come, let him come. No reason to talk him out of it", Ryan interjected as he watched him type.

"He needs to know", Marshall defended his text. This was going too easy. Why would he agree to come to some random party he didn't know anything about? There had to be a catch.

Nicolas replied: you gonna be in costume?

For some reason Marshall's ears heated up, when he read that. But he answered: yeah, that's the plan

Nicolas texted: can I make a wish?

"Oho? See, it was a good idea." Ryan patted him on the back.

Marshall looked at his friend for a moment not quite sure what he meant, then at his phone again. He wrote: what you want? While he waited for the answer to come in, he kneaded his lower lip nervously. What would Nicolas like to see him as? _Does it matter, girl? You gonna wear it, whatever stupid or embarrassing or hopefully naked thing he wants you as. 'Cause you're pining for his fucking dick. And you're too romantic to see he won't love you._ He had no fucking clue. Nicolas wasn't really a fan of anything in particular. He read a lot, but nothing with much passion.

Nicolas's text came in: sexy cat

"What?" Marshall blanked. _Fitting. I like how this guy thinks - with his dick, very appropriate for a slut like you, who only thinks with her pussy._

Ryan had to stifle his laughter. And failed at it.

"But that's for girls", he spurted out. _Exactly, it's perfect for a bitch like you - well, pussy cat._ "I can't go as a cat, that's ridiculous."

"Sexy cat", Ryan corrected him with a wide grin. "Hey, costumes were your idea, that's what you get. I told you, we're too old to play dress up."

Marshall huffed: "Come on, it's fun. With normal costumes at least. This is stupid, though. A sexy cat? How would that even look like anyway? It's not like I can glue a paw print on my tits or some shit."

Ryan chuckled at that. "Of course you could. I bet he'd like to see you half naked like that. I mean, that's what sexy cat means: half naked and with some cute ears."

"Exactly. It's how a cheap broad gets laid. Everyone knows that", Marshall huffed, still staring unbelieving at his phone. What was Nicolas thinking here? _That you're a cheap broad that wants to get laid? Like really badly wants to get laid? As I said before, you're not hard to figure out._ He couldn't dress like a girl, not on his own party. Could he? _Of course you can, fag. Let everybody see what you really are: a needy hole. Good thing most of your friends are guys, they can stuff you up real good. _Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d wear a dress ... but on his own party, that was different.

"Maybe that's why he's asking? You haven't seen each other since the weekend right? And you didn't do anything back then. Maybe now you'll getting some action", Ryan thought out loud. _See! Everybody knows your dirty little secret. Give up this fucking pretense already: You love dicks, no shame in that._ Marshall rather he would shut up.

He shook his head. "I don't need a stupid dress for him to fuck me. He can just go at it. Besides, I never find one that fits me anyway. They're all in chick-size." Well, that wasn't true at all. It was rather easy to find something in his size. But he couldn't do that on a party, like in public. Or semi-private public. Right?

"You're small, you'll find something." Ryan still fought not to laugh too much and still failed at it.

Marshall texted: seriously? you know I'm a dude, right?

Nicolas replied: I'm aware. I sucked your dick, remember

That he definitely remembered, even though it hadn't been for long and it had been too long ago. He answered: you must be kidding me

"Come on, let the guy have his wish." Ryan was very amused by all of this and it annoyed Marshall a lot. This wasn't funny, not from his point of view anyway.

He shook his head vehemently. "You crazy? Everyone's gonna be there, that's way to embarrassing." _Ugh, don't be like this. Decency and morales ain't a good look on you. _They were his friends and they knew him, but this was his party, so whatever costume he chose, was his own, private decision. Everyone would know. That should be considered carefully.

Ryan looked at him doubtfully. "Seriously? You go butt naked in your music videos, but a Halloween costume is too embarrassing for you?"

"That's different", he waved the sarcasm aside. _How? Because everybody'll know it's actually you and not just a stupid joke? They already know, I'm telling you. You're the only one who gives a rat's ass about your fucking lies at this point._

His phone chimed at Nicolas's next message: you'll look adorable, I bet

Marshall grumbled at that. Why couldn't Nicolas stop saying that?

"You could at least go as a cat for him, you know, unsexy and all covered up", Ryan suggested. The smirk on his lips betrayed that he wanted to say more about all of this. But Marshall would punch him in the throat, if Ryan said anything about the a-word and he made damn sure his stare told his friend that. "That's easy, right, just cat ears and a tail and it's done. You could go as Marshall the Cat and wouldn't even need much of a costume."

Marshall snorted. "That's lame." To Nicolas he texted: I think about it _Oh? You actually gonna have the balls to come out? I need to see that!_

"What? You wanna put on some fur, too?", asked Ryan.

Marshall just gave him another mean stare and growled: "Shut up." He pulled his laptop back and opened it again. "This is so stupid", he mumbled to himself, but the search engine spit out a bunch of women with cat ears, usually dressed in something slinky and black. _Exactly what you are._ "Exactly what I thought."

"Doing your due diligence?"

"If you don't shut up, I'ma punch that fucking grin right outta your fucking face, dude."

Ryan kept his grin, but chose not to answer. Good decision.

A couple of clicks later, Marshall was sure this must've been one of Nicolas's jokes, which weren't all that funny usually. All of these costumes looked terrible. Too slutty, too fake and of course only made to fit the female form. _Since when are you a classy bitch? But if it makes you feel better, take the nice dress, whatever, if it means you'll finally do something, I'm all for it._ He couldn't be sincere that he wanted Marshall to look like this, could he? _I bet he is, that kinky bastard. He knows exactly what a slutty bitch you are and he loves it. Hold on to him tight, you won't find someone like that again._ On top of it all, for Marshall to look like this in front of his friends. Like, seriously wearing a dress on his own party. That was too much.

"You're really considering this?", Ryan asked and still looked over Marshall's shoulder. His amused tone was traded in for something more serious, more thoughtful.

Marshall growled: "Of course not."


	24. Call Me Extra, Extra Terrestrial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall sits in his therapist's office again and they talk about his Halloween costume.

He closed the door behind him. She was already sitting in her chair and nodded a greeting in his direction. "Doc, I got a problem. I think I need your help." Nervous he ran a hand through his hair.

"Perfect timing then", she smiled at him. "What exactly do you need my help with?"

Marshall paced through her small office. Sitting wasn't his thing right now, he rather be on the move. Felt safer. "I, uhm … I don't know how to say that. Out loud. It's freaking weird, Doc."

"Well, just start small. We'll be getting to the big things eventually." Another warm smile.

He tried to smile back, probably didn't work, and took a deep breath. Being calm would help right now. But he was so fucking nervous to say it out loud, it wasn't funny anymore. "I invited Nicolas to my party, the Halloween party." Well, that didn't sound too bad.

She looked at him curiously. "You sound like that would be a big deal. Who is Nicolas?"

"You remember the guy with the tattoo on his shoulder blades? That's Nicolas. We're … uhm … We're, kind of, dating. I think?"

"Congratulations", she smiled delighted. "That's a big step. All of it. Making the effort to be with him, but also to stand by your relationship in front of someone else. That's really great. I'm happy for you, Marshall."

Sheepishly he rubbed his neck. "Thanks?" That felt awkward.

"So, you invited him to your party. How is that a problem?", she asked and he knew what she was doing, trying to get him back on track. He appreciated that.

"That ain't the problem. Not all of it, at least, just kinda. It's a Halloween party, right, with costumes and pumpkins and stuff. The whole shebang."

She nodded slowly. "Sounds like fun?"

"That's what I said", finally, someone agreed with him. "But … the problem is, Nicolas kinda, uhm, he made a … wish?"

Of course she was curious to ask: "What did he wish for?"

Marshall took another deep breath. "What I go as. Is that weird?"

"Not at all", she said with a reassuring tone. "Couples often decide together on their costumes. And a lot of other stuff as well. That's part of being in a relationship."

"Yeah, I know", he sighed. "I know that. Guess, goes for guy couples as much as normal ones. And I said, I'd think about it. That's what I need your help with."

She gestured toward the couch for him to sit down. "Of course I'm going to help you. But I have the feeling, you haven't told me the actual problem yet. If it's your party and you made it into a costume party because it's fun, well, why would him having an idea for that be a problem? What did he wish you would dress up as?"

Bull's eye.

Marshall sat down with a sigh. "A sexy cat."

His therapist looked at him for a moment surprised. "That is … unexpected." She brushed a strand of curved hair behind her ears. "He wants you to dress up as a sexy cat? That is an interesting request."

He mumbled low. "Tell me about it."

"And you told him, you'd think about it?"

He nodded. "Yap. And there's my problem, Doc."

She leaned forward in her chair and looked at him closely. "Not quite yet. I'm pretty sure, you'd have not much of a problem telling him no, if he was out of line here. You can be rather vocal if you don't want to do something, I know from experience."

"Sorry", he scratched his neck. "Didn't mean that."

She raised her hand briefly. "It's okay, don't worry about it. But, what actually is your problem now? A Halloween costume seems normal enough and a feline isn't all that troubling really. If you consider heeding his wish, I don't see a problem here. The sexy part might be something for just the two of you, though, I admit, depending on the type of party you're throwing."

Marshall ran his hands over his face. "I kinda know what I want that costume to look like … and that's the fucking problem." He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and opened the picture of the costume he was thinking about, then he gave it to her.

For a long moment his therapist just looked at the picture in thoughtful contemplation. It was making him nervous, more nervous than he already was. Why was she just staring at it? "Is it that bad? You can tell me. It's too much, ain't it? I knew it. It's ugly. He won't like it." He reached forward to grab his phone back.

She looked up. "Marshall … It is a very fine costume." She handed him the phone back. "I don't know Nicolas, but he'll probably like it very much. Don't worry."

"Then why're you making a face like that?"

Her smile, though warm as always, seemed a little shy. That was weird. "I'm a little surprised. I'm sorry, my reaction worried you, that wasn't my intention. I didn't know you were into these sorts of things."

He frowned. "Is that wrong? It feels wrong, tell you that."

"As I said before, you like what you like. There's nothing wrong with that. And if this is something you like to do, then that's totally fine. Trust in yourself."

"Easier said than done", he sighed.

With a warm tone she asked: "Do you have the heart to see Nicolas in the outfit you chose?"

Marshall shrugged. "Not sure. I ain't even sure, I have the heart for this whole relationship thing. It really freaks me out, you know. And this", he waved with his phone, "freaks me out even more. I never done that seriously in front of people before, like, as actual me being serious. Always just as a joke."

"I see", she said slowly. "A new relationship is scary for a lot of people. It's new and exciting, but there are also often feelings of uncertainty. That is normal and nothing to fear. What freaks you out more, that this is a relationship or that he is a man?"

Marshall leaned back into the cushion. The question was rather weighted. But he couldn't imagine Nicolas being a woman. Or a woman to have the qualities he liked in Nicolas so much. Because he was a man, he stirred in Marshall the things he stirred. And Marshall kinda liked it this way, he had to admit. Even when they were just texting, Nicolas found a way to sound genuine and tough. As if Marshall could lean on him, if things got too crazy. A thought that eased his mind, even though he hated to depend on other people. You couldn't always do things alone. So he answered: "I think he kinda has to be a man … Nicolas wouldn't work as a girl, you know. So, that's okay, I guess. And he tries, he really does. He's always telling me I think too much and that me having shit to deal with is no reason for him to break up with me. I don't really like when he's too nice and sweet, but, you know, that's sometimes exactly what you need. He kinda gets that."

She smiled understandingly. "I'm really happy for you, Marshall. He sounds like a good guy, like someone who you can put your trust into."

Marshall couldn't help the smirk. "I don't know about good, but yeah … I think so."

"You sound more relaxed than the last time we talked about him. Do you still cry at night sometimes?"

"Uhm", he kneaded his lip between his teeth. "Not since the weekend."

She tilted her head slightly. "What weekend?"

A genuine smile grew on his lips and he couldn't do anything against that. "We went to the lake house, you know, for my birthday. It was nice, just the two of us." He shrugged slightly. "We didn't do much or anything special, just … I don't know, it was nice."

"If you enjoy spending time with someone, there isn't anything special needed. Being with that person is special enough."

Marshall nodded. "Yeah, I guess … Uhm, Doc, I know you're not here for relationship advice or shit like that, but … I don't want to fuck this up."

"I'm here to help you, Marshall, in any way I can. From the sound of it though, you seem to be doing fine at the moment."

"Hrmpf", he grumbled, "Doesn't feel like it. I always fuck things up. Ask my ex-wife, she knows a whole cornucopia of stories of me fucking things up."

Her tone was soothing and even. "Well, you're not dating your ex-wife this time, but Nicolas. Considering that you two had a nice, romantic weekend together and he's coming to your party, also having some ideas regarding the costuming - sounds like it's going well. Don't forget, you've only been dating a few weeks. Uncertainties are to be expected, there will be situations to come, that probably will be uncomfortable or vexing or any matter of negative emotions - that's part of forming and being in a relationship. It's not fucking things up, it's being a person."

"Well, I'm a terrible person, then", he sighed. "He doesn't even want to have sex with me. How's that for doing just fine?"

She made a thoughtful humming noise. The one she always made, when he said something particularly wrong. "Is that why you came up with this special outfit?" A suggestive nod to his phone.

"What?", he asked surprised. "No, that's not … I mean, I wouldn't mind", he sighed and shrugged. "He's gay, I mean, like, just dudes. The only girl he's been with had been pretty butch apparently. So, I really doubt he cares for this kind of outfit or that it'll do anything for him like that, you know."

"Good", she nodded approvingly. "You should do it because you want to, not because of somebody else."

He frowned. "Still feels weird. I mean, I shouldn't want to do it at all. It's too much. Being with a man ain't gay enough, so this." He snorted in derision.

Her eyes looked at him kind. "Those two things are not necessarily related. Homosexuality and cross-dressing might overlap by accident, but they generally don't cause each other or correlate to each other specifically. There are a multitude of factors why one would like to wear a dress or why one prefers to be in a same-sex relationship, but they're often not the same factors."

"Really?" He had a hard time believing her. "Seems to me like it's the same thing. I ain't much of a man, so I end up like a woman, you know, in bed or in clothes - or in my head, that's the worst."

She tilted her head slightly and it felt like she considered his words carefully. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. But then she spoke: "If you could be any gender you wanted: man, woman, both, neither or something different. What would you choose?"

"What?" He had absolutely no clue where she was going with this. "What kind of a stupid-ass question is that?" He did not like the sound of this question. What was her next move here?

"Well, I ask because of what you just said. From your words, I take it, you seem to think that wanting to be with a man or wanting to dress like a woman typically does, somehow would make you less of a man. Or did I interpret that wrong?" How could she say something like this and still have this kind smile in her eyes? He couldn't understand.

He scratched his neck. "Well, kinda. Doesn't it? I mean, you can probably still be a happy person like that, if something like happy exists. But … I mean, there's a line somewhere, right? Between men and women. And it's not all about having a penis or a vagina or whatever, that much I know. That doesn't make you who you are. But there is a line somewhere."

She shrugged briefly. Something he rarely saw her do. "Maybe, maybe not. It's hard to tell, what makes us who we are and how we can approach our identity in a wholesome way. - Well, let me ask differently then. You said, you've done this before, as a joke." A short nod from him. "Tell me about that."

"What's there to tell? I like acting, so it's fun to dress up as different people, you know. It doesn't really matter, if it's a guy or a girl or whatever." Well, that wasn't all there was to it and from her expression he could see, that she knew that. He sighed. "But … I don't know. Women get to have prettier clothes? That probably shouldn't mean anything to me, I know. It's just … You know, I didn't really expect much when the idea was first floating around. Just another costume, who cares. Also, I didn't really think it'll look good - and to be fair, the whole outfit was hideous - but make-up can do wonders, so …", he shrugged. What was he to say?

"So …", she picked up his sentence, "you felt pretty?"

His hand twitched. The last time their conversation had been this embarrassing, burying his head in a pillow had actually helped. If he couldn't see her, she couldn't see him. But that was childish. He swallowed hard and nodded briefly. "Yeah."

Another warm smile. "That is okay. We all want to feel good in our own skin, sometimes make-up and clothes can help with this very human desire."

"But pretty is for girls", he interjected.

"Which brings me back to my previous question: If you could choose any or all gender you wanted, what would you choose?"

He still didn't know and tried hard not to think about where she was going with this. "Why?"

"As I said before, homosexuality and cross-dressing aren't all that related. And neither of them are related to which gender one identifies with. Wanting to be with a man or wanting to wear a pretty dress, does not make one a woman. But your words earlier suggested, there might be some overlap here. You said, you weren't much of a man, so you would end up like a woman. That to me sounds like an important sentence."

He sighed heavily and grabbed that pillow. Now looking childish didn't make much of a difference. Did she really think he was secretly a woman? He hadn't meant it like that. Had he? "You think I'm … What, a woman trapped in a man's body? Ain't that the plot of a trashy B-movie?"

"It's not about what I think. It's about who you are - or aren't. That's why I ask this question: If you could choose freely, if you dream of the ideal you, how would you be?"

He groaned into the pillow. That was a stupid question. "I wouldn't be this much of a failure." He looked up at her. "But that's not the kind of ideal you wanna hear, is it."

She smiled slightly. "Right now? No. But we can always talk about that."

"Nah, pass." He took a deep breath and began to think out loud. That usually got him somewhere, it's why he wrote his music: to clear his head. "I would not have tits, if that's what you're asking. They don't do much for me, so I can live without. I … I actually haven't thought about that before. Like, do I want to be a woman? No, I don't. Why would I? There are a lot of things about my life I would change, if I could, but … That never occurred to me, not seriously. I mean, sure I've stood in front of a mirror before, you know, in a dress and pretended I was one. And of course I sometimes thought it’d be easier if I was a girl, you know, liking men in this way, but … I never thought about, like, actually living as one. That seems weird and strange and … Nah, that wouldn't be me. It's just … I don't know, it feels nice, is all. You know … pretty, that's … Ever since I blew up with the music and all, people keep telling me I'm hot or sexy or some bullshit, some groupie trying to get into my pants and let her, whatever, but they don't really mean it. It's all lies. If I was still broke, they wouldn't look at me once, much less humping me first chance they get … But I look surprisingly good in a dress, somehow … You know, it just feels good to look at yourself and like what you're seeing for a change. Right? It gives me a little boost sometimes, that's all, like I … I can like myself a little. I don't usually like my face all that much. I mean, it's not so bad that I would do anything to change it, but it's just … It's just not overly attractive and that's fine, it's good enough. But sometimes, you know, you want to be more than good enough, right. You want to feel like a someone. Someone nice and pretty and good or whatever. With some make-up on, I even think my smile is cute. Ain't that weird, huh? It's just … I don't know, I sometimes do that to get back to myself again, to a self I like. … That doesn't mean I think I'm a woman. Or that I want to be one. I like to look good, that doesn't mean I want to change, what, myself? What would that even be? … I mean, sure, I just as often call myself some effeminate bullshit as much as the homophobic shit, but that's just me hating on myself. You know that. It sounds the same anyway. Like, all that name-calling is just mean and degrading, but … I don't think, when I call myself slut or bitch, that I mean or want to mean that I'm an actual woman. Wouldn't that be a weird choice of words? It just means, I'm too easy and messed up and not of much value. Words have contexts and that context is always the same, regardless if there's a bitch or a fag at the end of the insult. So", he frowned at her as he came to his conclusion, "I don't think that sentence was actually important or meaningful. It actually kinda sounds like some of those insults. Just phrased nicely. It's not always easy to filter them out."

She nodded slowly and her eyes looked at him with this warm, embracing expression. "That is very possible. Sometimes things seem meaningful, even if they aren't. But it still serves well to look at a question like this as truthfully as we can. And I think you did a fine job here. It can be hard to gather thoughts together about something, we might not think about too often. You did well, letting your thoughts guide you through the matter and find what this is really about: That you want to feel comfortable in your own skin. Everyone wants that. A pretty dress and nice make-up seem to help you and I'm glad that you know that about yourself. Not everyone does and without knowing how they can feel better with themselves, people tend to suffer quite a lot. So, again, I'm glad you found a way to feel good with yourself, at least every once in a while. That is very important."

"It's not weird that I need women's clothes for that?" He felt weird about that. Sure, it didn't mean he wanted to be a woman or something like that, but that didn't make it right. More importantly, it didn't fit well with the image of the kind of man he wanted to be. But he wasn't good at making that true anyway.

"No. Why would that be weird? It's just clothes, isn't it? There's nothing weird in cross-dressing." There was a short silence, but then it seemed like she remembered something and added: "If you like, I can give you some material for research. But in short, cross-dressing has been practiced for centuries in all cultures, sometimes for religious reasons, sometimes for theatrical reasons, sometimes to escape social injustice, sometimes to gain comfort in someone's identity, and sometimes for sexual pleasure. It does, however, hold a social stigma in our day and age, that can be hard to break out of, especially if it's a man, who wants to crossdress. Women, as usual, aren't seen as much of a threat to society and therefore are given a little leeway, in this regard at least." Her expression was thoughtful with a hint of worry. "So in regards to your Halloween costume … As much as I want to encourage you to express yourself and explore yourself, I also want you to be safe. Since Nicolas made the request he did and seems to support you, at least that's what I take from your words, take heart. It often comes with great rewards, when we put ourselves out there. You might be surprised."

He heard the "But" from ten miles away.

"But", she continued, "you might want to be more careful regarding your party as a whole. I know you trust your friends and you've known most of them for decades by now. Which is admirable. Nevertheless, our friends have prejudices as well, we all have. At this point in time it might be more wise to explore this in private first. I want you to trust in yourself and feel good with yourself and I'm really glad to see that Nicolas can spark something in you. That is wonderful. It's why I don't want you to get hurt. A costume like this might be more of a coming out than you're comfortable with at this point in time. So I advise for a little caution if a greater audience is to be involved, for your own safety."

He frowned. "I don't think my friends care that much. They never said anything before. And you said, those things don't go together."

"They don't", she agreed, "but that doesn't mean people know that. Just, it is best to concentrate these kinds of explorations in a safe space. It sounds like Nicolas might give you such a safe space. Trust in yourself, even if it seems scary."

"But don't go around flaunting it to people, 'cause they'll hate you for it", he finished her sentence.

She shook her head. "There's nothing to hate. Sadly, it doesn't stop people from being mean - or worse."

Marshall snorted angrily. "I dressed up as women before for my videos and no one ever said anything. They won't say anything about a Halloween costume either." They were his friends, for fuck's sake. They'll probably tease him with it and joke about it, if he actually went like this. But she made it sound like they would beat him up or even murder him. They were his friends and it would be embarrassing, but unsafe? No way.

"I sure hope so", her smile was warm but she couldn't leave the worry out of it. "Sadly, people have been hurt over these kinds of things before. Just, be cautious." He heard the accusation loud and clear: You have been hurt over these kinds of things before. He could take care of himself! So, his answer was just a low growl.

For a moment she let this sit in the air, so it might sink into him. Then she said: "You want to talk about the other thing, too?"

"Which other thing?", he asked slightly confused. This had been the only matter on his mind today.

"Well, you said something about you and Nicolas not having sex. That seemed to upset you a great deal", she explained in her usual tone of voice.

He remembered her thoughtful hum earlier. This would end up to be another long conversation, he saw that coming already. "Nah, it's fine. He's probably just shy." Well, that might've been his worst lie yet.


	25. Slip Into the Red Dress You Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween party. Marshall has a problem with his costume and then, Marshall has a very different problem.

"Where're your cat ears?", Ryan asked, his grin amused and curious. His wife punched her elbows into his side.

Marshall rolled his eyes. Of course she knew. Why only was Ryan so chatty with his wife? _That's not how she knows, homo, it's all over your face._ "Hey you two", he gave Mona a short welcome-hug. "Good to have you here, too. Maybe he'll stop being an ass now."

She smiled at him. "Don't hold your breath on that. But he's been fairly good lately. I thought I give him a little treat." With that she fanned out her dress a bit, white and a little old-fashioned but it suited her well and complimented her dark skin as well as her curves. It wasn't overly sexy, only really pretty - which was even better, if Marshall was asked. _Who would ask you? You shouldn't care for pretty, that ain't for a slut like you._

"Looks good", he nodded understandingly. He sure hoped they'd get along well. Their marriage was one of the few ones he knew, that actually held up still. Married almost eight years, dating just as long before that. A stronger relationship he didn't know and he was admittedly a little envious of them, and often annoyed with Ryan for fucking it up with some stupid-ass mistress. But in the end, who was he to talk? _Thought experiment: What'll happen when you inevitably cheat on your boo? He'll shoot your bitch ass or he'll try to beat the slut out of you? Kim couldn't do it, but maybe a professional will help. Any thoughts?_ If he couldn't serve Ryan as an example of what not to do, well, then there was not much use in helping him.

Now he eyed up Ryan in his suit and cape. He flashed him some plastic fangs. "You're Dracula, huh?", Marshall guessed.

"And I'm Minna, obviously", Mona explained.

He assumed that was Dracula's wife-to-be, but he would need to watch that movie again to be sure. "Cool."

"And what are you? If you want to be Marshall the Cat, couldn't you have gone with the Marshall, who as some semblance of a fashion sense?" Ryan looked him over more closely now. Something, Marshall really grew to hate these days. "And I ask again, where are the ears? And the tail? It's not much of a cat you have going here. He'll surely be disappointed."

Marshall picked at the neckline of his zipped up hoodie. _Relax, there's so much hoodie on you, nobody can see any skin. Which is a shame. When you gonna show some cleavage, homo?_ As if he wasn't aware that a sweat suit firstly wasn't a cat costume and secondly wasn't much of a costume at all and thirdly it was too big on him as well. He knew all that! No need for everybody to point that out to him. "There were … complications. I could use your help with that, actually." His ears started heating up already and Nicolas wasn't even here yet. Fuck.

"My help?", Ryan asked. "Sure. What you need me for? Shall I zip up your dress?"

Okay, now all of his face felt hot. _He already knows, get your head out of your ass, little gay looking boy, you gonna need that space later._ He must shine red like a stop light.

Ryan laughed low. "Really? Don't you wanna have Nicky do that?"

"Don't call him that", he grumbled. He felt so fucking stupid and miserable and he just wanted to bail. But that wasn't really his nature. He saw things through, especially when they were bad ideas. So, here he was _and you're finally fucking doing it!_

Mona elbowed her husband again. "Shush, be nice."

"You know what? Stuff it. I'm taking your wife with me, she's way nicer than you anyway." He stuck his tongue out to Ryan and shoved Mona toward the back of the studio, away from the party. The music and chatter grew quiet, the more they walked away. He pulled keys out of his pocket and opened one of the doors.

Mona closed the door after she stepped in. "So, you're really doing this? With Nicky, I mean. Good for you."

He rolled his eyes. "Why's everyone saying that?"

"Because we love you, that's why. So, how can I help?", she asked and clapped her hands primed for action.

He tilted his head a little. "How much did Ryan tell you?" _There ain't anything to tell, you're an open book, little gay looking boy._

"He tries not to, I swear", she said reassuringly. "He's just really bad at lying to me. It's not his fault, you know that."

He sighed. Yes, he knew that. "Well, it's supposed to be … uhm, a sexy cat. Whatever the hell that means." _Skin. It means skin and cleavage and some legs, too. Show everyone what they can have, pussy cat. _He gestured toward the table, where parts of his costume were lying. Ears and tail quite visible within the clusterfuck of his stuff that sprawled there.

She followed the gesture. "Well, I see the cat part. Seems to be all there. What's with the sexy part?"

"That's where I could use your help with. Ryan wasn't so far off with zipping up the dress. I mean, it's not a dress exactly and not a zipper, either, but-"

"Just let me help you", she interrupted him. "Show it to me, I'll figure it out. I dress five kids, I can handle getting you in your costume."

Marshall bit his lip. But he turned around and took his hoodie off. Underneath he wore a dark grey blouse and, more importantly, a black corset, with which he needed some help. "The laces, if you could", he asked and felt too coy for his own good. _Damn right, you haven't been a shy virgin since your teens. And it failed then, too._ He felt rather naked, even though technically he wasn't.

"Sure, no problem", Mona said and he felt her pull at the laces. "Do you want it really tight or a little loose?"

He turned to her. "Really? Nothing? You don't think this's weird or some shit?" He was, by all accounts, surprised by her reaction which just wasn't one at all. Not that he had thought, she'd have much of a problem with this, but some mild surprise at least. Wasn't that to be expected? _Why? You're the only one who believes in your fucking lies, homo._ But she really was chill and now Marshall came to understand why Ryan was so chill with all of this, too. _Not much of a puzzle: Not everyone's as fucked up as you._ Not just because of their history, but because his wife had talked some sense into him along the road. That she was really good at.

"Keep your head straight", she ordered and pulled at the laces again. "Tight or loose?"

"Well, I like to breathe, so not Victorian-style tight. But the waist, uhm …" _Why d'you even know what that means? Your gay ass is exhausting. _Another pull at the laces. "I want it to be convincing, you know?" _Show everyone just how much of a girly slut you are, good for you._

"I see", she said and he could hear and feel her work at the lacing. "Good that you asked me, Ryan wouldn't know what to do with this. He'll probably be more embarrassed than you right now."

That wasn't necessarily a comforting thought. "Probably", he agreed. The three chains at the front clinked quietly with every hard pull at the laces that jerked through his body. The small cat heads swayed from the movement. She really didn't hold back, which just as probably was a good thing.

"So, how does it feel? Can you breath all right?", she asked and then added some explanation: "You know, one of my friends is all into lingerie and stuff, I picked up a thing or two." A moment of hesitation. "She'll probably be delighted to have a corset as nice as yours."

He made a step away from her and took a deep breath. All seemed good. His hands ran down the sides of his body and he was impressed, she actually managed to make a slight feminine curve to his waist. Just enough. Sure, the corset was designed this way, still she'd done pretty good. "Well … As thanks I could give you the card of a dressmaker I know."

"You're full of surprises", a genuine smile on her lips. "Now, what's with the rest of your costume? I'm pretty sure, you gonna need some make-up."

Marshall gestured toward the table with his stuff. "All there. But I can do the rest myself, really." Only the laces he couldn't do himself, at least not to a degree that felt adequate to leave his bedroom with. And this sure as shit wasn't his bedroom!

She waved his objections aside. "Nah, I'm here to help, so I'm gonna help."

"Ryan doesn't even know what a lucky guy he is", he mumbled low.

"I know", she smiled jokingly. "Now come, sit your ass down. We're gonna make you the prettiest girl on your party."

Marshall stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" _Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner! One little gay looking boy coming right up._

She looked at him questioningly. "No? I mean …", she gestured toward him, toward the corset and the blouse. "It's quite feminine, ain't that the point?"

"Well, yeah, but …" But what? Of course she was right, that was the point of all of this. Still, it was really weird to hear that out loud and not just in his head. Or from his mirror. He shrugged with his shoulders. "I don't know." _Quit the pretense already, you know! Everyone fucking knows!_

"You don't? Or are you too chicken?", she beckoned him to sit on the chair already. "Either way, we're gonna make it true now."

He sat down, that was all the answer needed.

* * *

One final gesture to smooth out the folds of his skirt. They didn't need it, but it was just one of these things he did to work up his courage. He felt really fucking nervous right now, akin to when he was this close to go up on a stage and perform one of his songs in front of thousands of people. Afterward, he actually liked this feeling, but now? He was fucking nervous as hell.

Marshall turned to Mona: "How do I look?" He had thought about bringing a full size mirror instead of only a hand mirror, but had decided against that on the last second. Seemed like too much effort. Now he cursed that decision. It felt like everything was in place, but you never knew.

The black hair of the wig fell silky smooth onto his shoulders and hid the headband for the cat ears, all perky and of a deep red colored fur. Mona had put make-up on him that accentuated his cheek bones and the blue of his eyes astonishingly well. A black necklace in the form of a prowling cat adorned his clavicles, a couple of red stones sparkled when light hit them just right. Earrings and bracelet and ring all made in the same style: feminine lines, black with red stones. The dark grey blouse hid away his tattoos and his biceps and the fact that his chest was muscle. He really liked the three red colored chains that hung in the front of the corset with the kitten heads, a last minute purchase but definitely worth it. The black corset sat really well today and Mona assured him, the lacing - in red of course - wasn't twirled. He had to take her word for it. Fitting to the ears, the tail was of the same red fur, of course. The satiny skirt was black as well and fell in some nice folds and layers around his legs, it had a slight angle to its cut so one knee was showing and the other one was covered. Some asymmetry never hurt. He'd picked some not too high heels, because Nicolas didn't like tall women, he remembered and assumed that'll probably went for men as well. Also better to spend all night in.

"You're a gorgeous human being, Marshall", Mona answered and took his hands into hers, delighted and almost giddy with excitement. Why though? "He's going to love this. I'm loving this. It's perfect." She seemed so happy and Marshall smiled in response.

A warm sensation spread out in his chest. Perhaps all of this was alright, not just the costume tonight but being with Nicolas, too. Just maybe this could work out? At least as far as anything in his life ever worked out. Nothing was perfect, but good enough was easy to settle for if the alternative was pain and fear. It only needed to work out a little bit, a tiny little bit and it might all be worth it.

Mona's bright smile was a hunch that all of this might work out just enough.

There was a knock at the door. "Hey, you in there? What's taking so long?", Ryan's voice.

"Just a sec, babe", she answered. One more time she looked over to Marshall: "Let's have fun, tonight, honey, it's your party after all."

Honey? She had never called him that before. He kinda liked it. Huh. But he nodded confident and it wasn't all fake. He walked over to the door to open it and step out into the hallway.

Ryan leaned against the wall and watched the door open. When Marshall stepped out, his eyes grew big. "… Wow …", was the only thing he said, staring at his friend.

Marshall looked at him a little puzzled. "What?" Sure, the outfit was really pretty - not sexy necessarily, hopefully Nicolas wasn't too disappointed with him - and he felt really pretty, but not in a wow-kind of way.

"You … I mean … Wow." Not much of an answer. Ryan cleared his throat. "You look amazing. I mean, if I didn't know better … Just amazing."

Mona shoved her elbow into her husband's ribs once more, probably not the last time tonight. "Don't be rude, quit staring."

"Well … We better get to the party, then", Marshall suggested.

Ryan just remembered: "Right, Nicolas's here. That's why I came."

"Nicolas?" He spun on his heels and rushed down the hallway. So excited!

The music hit like a wall, when he entered the room with the party. But Marshall didn't need to look around and scan the room, he saw Nicolas immediately. As if he could miss that man. Even though he really had wondered what Nicolas would come as, especially since he wasn't much of a fan of anything, now that he saw him, it seemed so obvious. He wore a dark kimono and a sword was hanging at his side. Marshall always forgot, there was a men's version of kimonos, but it certainly suited Nicolas well. The dark green colors and the straight cut gave him a rather stoic posture. Really like one of those movies, an old-timey samurai movie. He looked very handsome and Marshall wanted to call out to him, but caught himself in time. Nicolas was deaf, calling out to him would be useless.

When Marshall was just a few steps away, Nicolas turned to him, saw him and, well, froze. He literally froze on the spot, not a blink, not a breath. He just stared at him with wide eyes.

"Nicolas?", he asked with a hushed voice that was drowned out by the music. Nervousness tingled in his limbs. This probably wasn't what Nicolas's had wanted making that wish, but hopefully he wasn't too disappointed. Maybe this wasn't overly sexy, but he had made a lot of effort to fit in the cat theme. At least Marshall liked his outfit.

A jolt flashed through the other and his body moved again. With big steps Nicolas stood right in front of him, cupped his hands around Marshall's jaw and kissed him passionately and feverishly.

Marshall couldn't do anything but to kiss back. He didn't want to do anything else than to kiss him back. He held on tight to Nicolas's sides, he felt like falling. Then, a strong pull at his arm that yanked him from his boyfriend's hold.

"Marshall", a deep hiss in his ear, Ryan's voice again. "Be careful. Everyone's here, don't forget that."

He squinted at his friend. "What?" His gaze wandered over Ryan's shoulders and met Denaun's, who looked at him skeptically. "Shit", he mumbled and freed himself from Ryan's grip. He straightened his skirt nervously. "Shit", he repeated.

"I don't think anybody payed much attention, just … You know, be careful", Ryan shrugged with a hint of uncertainty.

"It's fine", he muttered. As he turned to Nicolas again, Marshall gave him a brief and genuine smile. He was glad, Nicolas was here. "Take a drink or a snack or something", he gestured to the table with all the food.

But Nicolas still looked at him intensely and … hungrily. Eventually he gave a strong nod and left for said table.

"You really are head over heels, ain't ya", Ryan mused and laid an arm around Marshall's hips. "Actual heels even."

Now it was Marshall's elbow that got shoved into Ryan's ribs. "Shut up."

* * *

He had decided to not talk to Denaun. Probably he should with the skeptical look Denaun had given him and all, but he just couldn't bring himself. What was he to say? He liked wearing silk and sucking dicks? Not cool, man, not cool. So, Marshall tried to get some unsuspicious space between him and his friend and also between himself and Nicolas. Maybe no one had payed attention and still wasn't, but he tempted fate or karma or whatever way too much already tonight, he wasn't going to be stupid. Or more stupid than he already was. What had he been thinking?

That he liked Nicolas to see him like this, pretty and special. He wanted his boyfriend to see that Marshall was more than a useless, ugly nobody. Judging by their kiss, he saw.

The party was fun. It wasn't that difficult to not cross Denaun's path too much and to not be alone with him, honestly. Of course the music was awesome and the food was as well, relaxed and cheery vibes all over. All of his friends had a great time and Marshall made damn sure they had.

He liked taking care of people and making them enjoy themselves. So he made sure, everyone ate and drank enough but not too much and that the music on the dance floor was moving bodies. He saw Ryan and his wife dance at some point, which he found lovely and amusing. But they weren't the only people to do so and even he had put some moves on the floor himself. But he also made sure, the music didn't spill from the dance floor into the karaoke space - an idea his daughters had given him -, so as not to ruin the fun of singing off-key. There were a few short and fun games to keep everyone engaged and also to provide some meaningless and laugh inducing conversations for people to mingle easily. Most of them knew each other to a degree, of course, because they all kind of worked together, but he tried to break up the usual grouplets. Parties were a perfect spot to notice people you usually wouldn't without too much pressure and he liked the idea of his friends getting along well. That's why Marshall had the best time tonight.

Of course Von and Rufus and just about everyone of his friends had made a joke about his choice of costume, more about that it fit him well and less about that he chose it in the first place. Exactly what he had expected. He had heard more jokes the first time, when he'd done his Britney Spears-impression all those years ago. Which video had it been again? Didn't matter. Seemed like after a while this joke had just gotten old enough to be barely amusing and nothing out of the ordinary anymore. He wasn't quite sure, if he was okay with that.

Often his eyes wandered to Nicolas, though. He wondered, if Nicolas owned that kimono because he really was into this samurai-stuff, like if he dressed like this in private sometimes. Or if it was just a costume for him like for everyone else here. He did sword fighting, he'd said. For some reason he still couldn't picture Nicolas as a guy, who actually had fun with costumes all that much. That mean grin didn't really translate into this. Marshall felt a little bad that he left Nicolas alone at a party, where he didn't know anyone else. That was a crappy feeling, he knew that himself, and he was a crappy boyfriend for doing so. But the way Nicolas still looked at him, so fierily and all-consuming, he didn't trust either of them to not do ... something. They would. They so definitely would, he could feel his blood rushing already.

Marshall leaned against one of the walls, nursing a pop and taking a couple of deep breaths. He loved having his friends around and this party was all fun, but every so often he needed a breather.

"Hey", Danny raised his drink briefly. "Great party."

Marshall nodded. "That's the idea."

"Great costume, too." A suggestive wink up and down Marshall's form. "Looks good on you." There wasn't mockery in his tone.

Marshall shrugged. "Well, that's what Halloween's for, ain't it? Dressing up silly and having fun." Silly wasn't his goal with this particular outfit, but that was only for him to know. Or at least not for Danny to know. He was a colleague and friend, but definitely not close enough for this kind of information.

"You know, I had a cool idea the other day for a chord progression. You wanna check it out?"

"Now?", Marshall was surprised. "Sure, why not. I'm always up for that." He pushed himself from the wall.

Danny smiled at him: "Yeah, I know."

So, they walked down the hall and through one of the doors. Danny shut the door behind them and asked: "What're you supposed to be anyway? I mean, with the ears and stuff."

"A cat", he explained and turned to Danny expectantly. "So, what's your idea?"

"You mean, a cat-girl", Danny corrected him with emphasis on the last syllable. "I mean, you're definitely a girl, the cat might be debatable."

Marshall tilted his head questioningly. "You wanna talk costumes or your chords?"

"Neither, actually", Danny replied and said with a less conversational tone: "I saw you earlier."

Marshall did not like where this was going. He had a really bad feeling about this. "Earlier? You need to be more specific. After all, this is my party, everybody's seen me earlier."

"I mean, I saw you with the samurai and Ryan." Danny came closer with slow steps. "Looked like trouble in gay paradise to me. But I'm a little surprised, I didn't peg you for a tranny."

Fuck. Marshall went with plan A: feign ignorance. So he snorted in derision. "What the hell are you talking about? Don't know what you're seeing, but you should get your eyes checked, man."

"Come on, don't take me for a fool. He stuck his tongue down your throat. What kind of arrangement is that? I've been wondering about that all night." Danny stepped right into his personal space. "Is he into girls with dicks? Or do you tug it away under there? Are you guys a throuple or do you let just about anybody slop all over you? I'm curious how these pervy things work." One hand slid under Marshall's skirt and grabbed his junk, or tried to anyway.

"Fuck off!", he pushed Danny away with a hard shove. This was time for plan B: burning anger. He growled menacing and stared Danny as cold and enraged in the eyes as he could - which he knew was quite impressive. "The fuck is your problem? Whatever the hell you think you saw, didn't fucking happen. Now, get the fuck out of my studio, asshole, or I'm gonna throw you out my goddamn self! And don't get fooled by a pretty skirt, I will break your fucking bones in the process. I promise!" He shoved him again hard.

Danny shoved back and replied with a grin. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm sure, the press will have a field day with this story. How much money, do you think, can I make from this? Eminem - a fucking shemale. Misogynist and homophobe par excellence is, in fact, a sissy queen. Who would've thou-"

The punch in his face interrupted Danny's sentence. It wasn't worth hearing the end of anyway. "Fuck you!", Marshall spit and grabbed the collar of Danny's sweater. Time for plan C: leverage power. He pulled him in close and said dark and threatening: "No one will believe you - and I will make damn sure you'll rot in prison for the rest of your life. We'll see who gets slopped all over then, punk."

Danny seemed to have lost some of his cockiness, but not enough. "They will believe me, I've got some compelling evidence, you know." His hand gripped Marshall's wrist tight and turned, so that he had to let the bastard go. "With pictures like these, you can't talk your way out of this. This ain't a fucking Halloween costume, this is just - you, all perverted and twisted you. And it's fucking disgusting!"

In this exact second the door burst open. Nicolas. With each step he took into the room, his expression grew more wild and more grim. He unsheathed his sword and there was a distinct metal sound to it.

Fuck! He brought his real fucking sword?! But Marshall managed a last mean growl towards Danny and wriggled his wrist out of the bastard's grip. "If you don't back off, I let him loose. And believe me, you don't want that."

"What's he? Your lap dog?", Danny huffed but there was fear in his eyes, which focused on the blade.

"Try bloodhound." Marshall stared his former friend down.

Nicolas's deep voice cut the air: "Leave." It wasn't a request and it wasn't an order, either. The word was a threat on Danny's life.

Understanding that just as well Danny hurried out of the room. "You're crazy!"

"And don't you forget that!", Marshall shouted after him and threw the door shut. He leaned his forehead against the wood and hit it with his fists. Fuck! What had just happened? This was insane! Had he just gotten blackmailed with his gay thing? Fuck!

A quiet metal scratch.

Marshall turned around and focused on Nicolas. And his sword. "The fuck you bring a real fucking sword for!"

Instead of an answer, which Marshall didn't actually expect, Nicolas walked over to him, grabbed his hips and pulled him into a deep kiss. And Marshall kissed him back, arms laid around Nicolas's neck to pull him in closer. That's what he had wanted to do all night and he was going to enjoy all of it now. Maybe this was disgusting, probably was, but hell did it feel amazing.

Their kiss was desperate and starving and passionate and heated and so were their hands. Fore some mysterious reason both their costumes were not designed for an urgent make-out session. Marshall barely found skin beneath Nicolas's kimono and Nicolas would not get even half an inch under Marshall's corset. But luckily a skirt was more open for these kinds of things and it didn't take long for Nicolas to kneel down, head buried underneath the satin folds and licking, kissing, sucking on Marshall's dick.

He moaned loudly and clawed his nails into the door. "Fuck!" This was so worth the anguish of his mind. He never had had sex in an outfit like this before, but hell did he want to now. Jerking off in one was already pretty hot, having Nicolas's head under his skirt, though … Felt like a dream come true he didn't know he had dreamed of. Another loud moan as Nicolas's took him deep into his throat.

His hands jerked forward and grabbed hold of the spiky black hair, he could pet through all day long. But instead he pulled at it, pulled Nicolas up. Those thin lips needed to be on his own and that tongue needed to be in his mouth. Now! One of Marshall's legs wrapped around the other's body, their groins meeting beneath their clothes. Another moan, from both of them.

It took him a moment to realize, he wasn't just moaning sounds but actually saying something between their lips. Unwillingly he parted their lips from each other and sank into black eyes. He said those words again, now that Nicolas could see them: "Fuck me."

Nicolas grinned in response, all satisfied and predatory. Then they kissed again and his hands moved down under Marshall's skirt and squeezed the cheeks, he evidently was very fond of.

Another moan from Marshall and he gripped the kimono's collar hard. He had to hold on to something, 'cause Nicolas was already pushing two fingers in and stretching his hole. Patience was absolutely not his strength and even though it hurt, Marshall was too thrilled to care. But there was one last thought, he had drilled into his brain to not get easily devoured by passion: "Condom." He shoved against Nicolas's shoulder to remind him of that.

Out of the folds of the kimono Nicolas actually produced one and Marshall wasn't sure what seemed more odd, that there were pockets in this thing or that Nicolas had brought some rubber. Both not thoughts that kept long on his mind.

Especially not when there was a hot dick tearing his hole apart. That was exactly what it felt like. A hoarse cry, a pained groan, an ecstatic moan and an erratic kiss. His legs wrapped around Nicolas's waist tight, pulling him in close, while Marshall was pushed hard against the door with every thrust into his body. They panted into each other's mouths, their lips touching but not coordinated enough for a kiss anymore. Marshall's fingers dug deep into the mess of black hair, as if he could hold himself steady by them. He couldn't. Nicolas's hand gripped his neck, the rough skin of fingertips causing goosebumps all over his body and a wet tongue licked the side of his face. He moaned again, his hips moving against Nicolas's body.

When he came, he was totally out of breath and all tension drained out of his body. He slumped against the wood of the door and only Nicolas's hold on him kept him upright. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the movement inside him, intently focused on the feeling of pushing and shoving and thrusting of Nicolas into him and it was a sensation, he didn't want to live without. Even the tiniest tremor sparked heated friction not just on his skin, but from inside of him. There was a fullness, as if it wasn't just him anymore and whatever had broken so long ago, could become whole again. Raw pleasure beat in his veins. He was open and true and pure. With. Life seemed worth it and love seemed finally in reach. The sound of Nicolas's moans filled him just the same. He felt his heart beat in his chest, fast and strong and sanguine. He was a person again.

Marshall's face nestled in the crook of Nicolas's neck and his arms were wrapped around the broad shoulders, under the layers of cloth was the tattoo he liked so much. There was no movement anymore, just them breathing too quickly. With a slow mind he realized, they were sitting on the floor, a tight ball of human and clothes.

Nicolas raised his head and looked him in the eyes. Their noses touched briefly and they kissed lazily. "You are beautiful." The dark voice sank into Marshall and filled him to the brim with warmth and affection. For this moment, sadness was but a bittersweet memory from the past.

Leisurely Marshall's fingers stroked through the spiky hair and he smiled. "I'm glad you're here." In this embrace, at this party - with him.


	26. And Since Birth I've Been Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party ain't over yet, but Marshall certainly wishes that it was. His friends have a little surprise for him.

After a while their breathing was back to normal again and they slowly untangled themselves. Nicolas brushed a strand of black hair behind Marshall's ear and made the earring chime, his thumb caressed a rouged cheek. "You're make-up is … smeared."

"Figured that", Marshall agreed and pulled at Nicolas's collar. Even though the kimono looked in disarray and chaotic, there was still no skin to be seen. How did these things work, seriously? Then he stood up, or tried to and groaned. That hurt. Nicolas needed to learn some patience next. "Fuck", he growled.

Nicolas helped him to his feet. The grin on his face was not remorseful in the slightest.

On bare feet he walked out into the hallway and into the room with his stuff just a few doors down. He winked Nicolas to follow him. Back in the room he gestured Nicolas to open the corset for him. There wasn't any protest. Marshall felt the strong hands on his back, one steadied his hips while the other one pulled the laces open row after row. Meanwhile Marshall took the cat ears and the wig off and wiped the smeared make-up from his face. Getting back to his regular self.

After the last row of laces was loose, a kiss on his neck. The hands reached around, declamped the three red chains with the kitten heads and put them on the table. Then Nicolas's hands unhooked the front of the corset, the busk opened and it almost felt like he moved with reverence as he undressed Marshall.

Marshall must be seeing things. He unbuttoned his blouse and folded it neatly.

Nicolas leaned against the table and observed every move of his.

"What?", Marshall asked. "Never seen a man half dressed with a skirt before?"

A smirk was the only response. As expected by now.

So, he took his t-shirt and pulled that over his head. A change of skirt for jeans and he examined the satin folds. Hopefully their fun hadn't ruined it. The folded skirt also went into the bag, where the blouse and the corset rested. "Oh whatever, I can do the rest later", he decided and grabbed his sneakers. When they left the room, he locked it up again. "Back to the party", he said with half a smile.

Nicolas just nodded and stroked his the small of his back for a moment.

* * *

The music was still on, laughter and chatter underneath, his friends still had fun at the party. It was good to see that, even if Marshall had neglected some of his host duties in the last couple of … He didn't even know how long they've been in the back.

"What happened to your costume?", Denaun asked

And startled Marshall with that. "Shit, don't do that", he grumbled. Where did he come from just now?

Denaun looked at him worried. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, didn't see you there." _How would you, with your eyes still drooling over your boo._

Denaun still looked at him that way. "If you're worried about Danny, don't be. We took care of him."

"What?", he frowned at his friend. "What does that mean? How did you … What did you … Wait, ya'll didn't kill the guy, right?" This was not a gangster movie. Well … a quick look to Nicolas's sword. The thing was fucking real! They needed to have a serious talk about that.

"What? No, of course not." Denaun shook his head. "Not yet at least. But we made sure, he knew what's up." Then he took a phone out of his pocket and handed it to Marshall. "And we took this from him, just to make sure, he didn't try something stupid."

Unbelieving he looked at the piece of tech, then looked up to Denaun. "That's Danny's? Why do you have that?" Sure, he was glad that the pictures wouldn't get out now, but he felt like he was missing a piece of information. "Why did you _take care_ of him in the first place?" _He sucked your brains out just now? Because they know, homo, how'r you this stupid and slow?_

"Because we're friends." Behind Denaun, around one of the high bar tables stood the rest of the guys and they smiled or winked rather suspiciously in Marshall's direction.

This was weird. "What's going on?", he asked in a low tone. "Did you, like, hear anything or … What?" And if they heard Danny talk his nonsense, how much else did they hear? Or see? Fuck! _They've already seen far more of you than that, slut._

"No, but he was obvious anyway. Don't worry. It's over", Denaun said reassuringly.

Well, that tone didn't track with Marshall. He was worried. A lot. "Obvious, how?" If Danny had been obvious … How obvious had everything else been? Had Marshall been? And Nicolas! He was the most suspicious person ever. This was a nightmare!

"Look, don't worry. It's all fine now."

"Oh, I fucking worry!", he growled. "Stay the hell out of my business. All of you! I can handle my own shit." He shoved Denaun aside and stormed off. This was so fucking bad!

"Marshall!"

He didn't listen. Fresh air, that's what he needed right now. He left the party and the building. The cold air of an October night hit his face when he stepped outside. He breathed in deeply and the sharp pain in his throat felt good, cleansing. He could do this. He could deal with this. All his life he'd been dealing with this _It's called running away and you seriously need to fucking stop that, homo!_ and keeping it secret. Even to the point where he'd almost forgotten it himself. This was no different.

But it was different. It wasn't just a silent secret, some thoughts he didn't dare to share with anybody else. No. He was actually doing it. He was out there fucking with guys, hell, he had a relationship with one even. An actual fucking boyfriend, he still couldn't believe it. _You better do, his dick was just inside you like five fucking minutes ago. You're gay and you love it, girl!_

And … he wanted it. He wanted to be with Nicolas. Even if it wouldn't work out with him, he wanted to be with a man. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt right. It wasn't even wrong. Lots of people were gay or something else from that alphabet soup and nothing was wrong with them. Why was it wrong for him? _You ain't wrong cause you're gay, stupid homo, you wrong cause you're you._ That didn't make fucking sense!

He threw Danny's phone against the wall, the only thing in reach he could destroy at this moment. Didn't do the trick though, too small and too easy. It exploded into its plastic components on first impact. "Fucking great! Can't even buy decent stuff that fucker", he huffed in anger and frustration.

"Marshall?"

He turned around. Denaun and Ryan and the rest of their little band of best friends stood at the door and all of them had this worried, thoughtful look on their faces. "What now!", exasperated he threw his hands in the air. "Do I need your fucking permission to get fresh air! Get the fuck back inside!"

"Marshall …", Ryan said with the calm voice he used with his son. Marshall had heard that tone often enough in the studio, when Ryan and his son fought over the phone. He knew that fucking tone too well.

"Don't fucking try that on me! I'm not one of your goddamned kids. Leave me the hell alone! All of you! Go back inside, that's not so freaking hard." He didn't even know why he yelled at his friends. It wasn't their fault, that he was a mess. Or that his party was turning into a disaster. One fun night, was that too much to ask? Just one night, where he had fun the way he wanted with the people he wanted. That shouldn't be so hard! _You're making it hard on yourself. Just tell them, you love dick and you'll probably get some right now._

Rufus stepped forward. "We know, aight, Marshall. We know. So, just come back inside and enjoy the party with us."

His body froze. "What?", a whisper. _Told you. _They couldn't! _Told you._ They shouldn't! _Told you. _This was all his goddamned fault. He had tempted fate one too many times and tonight he'd lost. _How's being you for a change losing? This ain't hard, slut, repeat after me: I'm gay and I love to suck your dick._ Fuck. How was this happening?

"Well, sorta", Rufus continued and took another step toward him. "Not in great detail or anything, but we know. We know enough, you're into guys. What does it matter? We're family, aight. Don't forget that. We always look out for you."

This was not fucking happening! How did they know? How long had they known? Why didn't they say something before? Why were they still his friends? Were they waiting for the right moment, when it hurt the most? That was cruel! He didn't want to lose them. If he lost them, who else would be left? He had nobody else. Not like this, not as friends. They'd known each other forever. They'd been his family, when his own didn't want him. If they would throw him away just the same, he would just … _Kill yourself?_ He didn't know what he would do then, but he already felt like breaking apart at the thought of it. But now that they knew, why would they want to be friends with him any longer? Like this, all wrong and disgusting and useless …

A dull burn in his throat interrupted his thoughts, then he was already doubling over and throwing up.

"Marshall!"

His lungs hurt. He needed to breath, but the night air was too cold and too heavy. Nothing was getting in.

"Marshall!"

Night was crawling into his eyes right through to his brain, the cold wind crawled right into his limbs, shaking him to the ground.

Fuck.

"Marshall?"

The first thing he saw, were obsidian eyes. Eyes Marshall loved and trusted. If _he_ was here, all would be well. With an eased mind, he closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. Inhale deeply … and exhale. The cold air stung a little, but that grounded him in the here and now. Then he concentrated on his surroundings: The wall behind him was made from stone, so was the ground he was sitting on. Voices, several, and they sounded like his friends and also like they were worried. About what, him? But he was fine.

"Hey Marshall? You there?" A gentle nudge on his shoulder.

He nodded slowly and hummed low. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and saw the sparkling obsidian eyes again. But his smile died halfway. That wasn't obsidian black, that was ink-black. Those weren't _his_ eyes, they belonged to Ryan. Why was he mixing them up?

Right. DeShaun was dead.

And his friends knew his secret.

"Hey, you okay?", Ryan asked again.

_No, you ain't_. But no one could help him, so what was the point of admitting it out loud? "Yeah, I'm fine." Bracing himself against the wall he stood up, his knees weak and with a low groan. After the chat about his sword, he and Nicolas really needed a chat about patience and proper preparation. Wasn't like Marshall's ass was used to getting roughed up like this. No consideration that man.

"Sure? You don't look okay." Denaun's hand gripped him tight for support, but Marshall pulled away. "Did Danny hit you or something?"

"I'm fine, stop being stupid." He pinched the bridge of his nose, there was this familiar pressure behind his eyes again. This was not the right place nor the right time to cry, not in front of his friends - or probably soon to be ex-friends. Whining wouldn't achieve anything. _At least one thing you're right about. Even a blind chick finds something to peck._ He could not turn back the time and make his friends not know. Or bring DeShaun back. What's done was done.

"Then stop being an ass", Von snorted unnerved. "You just puked all over yourself and passed out. That ain't fine."

Marshall looked down at himself and saw said stains on his t-shirt. Shit, he couldn't even say he had too many drinks tonight. Sobriety sucked sometimes. "Whatever man, just leave me alone for a second. Is that too much to ask?"

A sigh from someone.

Then Ryan spoke again: "You've been alone with this long enough."

"And you've been miserable long enough", Denaun added. "Tonight I thought, you're finally doing better."

Marshall frowned at him, at all five of his friends. "What’s this, an intervention? You know what, screw you - all of you! Party's over."

"Maybe you need one", Ondre suggested. _I second that! They always knew, get over yourself, little gay looking boy._ "Shouldn't you be relieved or happy that we know? We're your friends, your family and we love you, whatever you do. How's that translating in you … having some sorta breakdown or whatever this is."

Marshall, still leaning against the wall, now slid down again slowly. How was a fun Halloween party turning into this nightmare? _Because you're full of shit, faggot._ A pained groan left his throat. Why couldn't he just vanish into thin air? Not coming back, just disappearing forever. _Didn't work when you were a kid, won't work now either. The whole world knows you, bitch._

Denaun kneeled next to him, a hand on his shoulder. "We always have your back. We don't care, if you want to have a girl in bed or a guy. And we don't care, if you rather be a girl yourself, or whatever else's going on here. You're always be you and that's exactly the person we call our best friend. And because you're our friend, you better stop lying to us. This been going on long enough. Whatever your problem is, it ain't with us, aight. You hear me? We're with you, all the way."

"Don't talk stupid", he snapped back.

Denaun opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, a deep, breathy voice cut through the cold October night. It came from behind all of them. "You think too much."

Nicolas's voice soothed the tremble in his limbs, Marshall only now realized had been there. He buried his face in his hands. "I know, I know."

"So, who's your boyfriend here?", Rufus asked. "Don't you wanna introduce us?"

No, he didn't really. _You realize, that's rhetorical, right? They knew and they all been at the same party for hours tonight, homo, they know he's stuffing your whole good._ But he looked up again. "Nicolas", he answered.

Silence.

He heard his own heart beat too loud and his breathing sounded wretched, not much more than a pitiful rattle. The taste on his tongue was sour and mildly strawberry. He wanted to go home.

But Von broke the quiet: "That's all? Don't we deserve a bit more here?"

"What do you want from me?", he asked defeated and looked up to his friend. "I just want to go home, aight?" _You sound like a depressed slut who's coming down from a bad trip and just realized, what stupid shit she done, again. That's not for you. You ain't done fucking nothing tonight. Stop whining, fag! _He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, stopping the tears from coming out. "This night's supposed to be fun, not a fucking nightmare", he muttered.

"Hey, tonight was a great deal of fun", Ryan said all confidence. He pulled Marshall up to his feet. "You set up an awesome party. All your friends had a great time, your boyfriend came over, too, you had a lot of fun dancing - don't even try to deny that - and your secret's out the bag. Which means, you can dance with your boyfriend now. If that doesn't sound like fun to you, you need to update your dictionary."

He thoroughly doubted, Nicolas liked to dance. But didn't look like Ryan would count that as an excuse, since he still held on to Marshall and dragged him back into the studio, back to the party. Denaun handed him a glass with a bright red drink, smelled like strawberry and cherry. "What's this?", he asked puzzled.

"You've been mixing it the whole night", Denaun explained as if that said everything.

Marshall frowned. "You spying on me?" _How could anybody spy on you? You do every-fucking-thing in public._

"Shut up, just drink it."

In the meantime, Von and Rufus walked over to the music booth and a few moments later the Beastie Boys blared out of the speakers. That was awfully sweet of his friends. They didn't like this music as much as he did. "You're really putting out all the stops, huh?"

Ryan bumped his shoulder amicably. "Your party ain't over yet."

Optimism, not a thing Marshall had much experience with. He let his gaze drift through the room. Few of the other people, he'd invited, looked over curious or mildly concerned. They had probably seen him storm out in his regular clothes, that was pretty much a neon sign for: something's up. At least right now, right here it was. But still seemed like most of them had a good time. His drama wasn't much of an inconvenience tonight, wasn't that a new thing. "You do know, you guys ain't the only people here? The rest don't know, so no dancing tonight", he answered Ryan. Then he raised an eyebrow as Nicolas came to stand next to him.

"You still went as a cat girl in front of all of them", Ryan replied matter-of-factly.

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Must've had my five minutes of crazy to think I could blend in on Halloween. Sorry, won't happen again."

"Oh, don't get sarcastic with me. You're letting loose a little, you know, and getting your queer on or whatever you wanna call it. That's good."

"How's that good?"

Ryan grinned at him: "Like your boyfriend said: You think too much."

Marshall took a sip of his drink.

"Dance?", Nicolas asked.

Marshall looked at him surprised. "Really, you dance?"

"Badly", Nicolas shrugged.

Trying to picture that, he smirked slightly. "I need to see that", and set his drink aside.

Nicolas held his hand open and looked expectantly at him. Hesitantly, Marshall accepted it. A short squeeze and Nicolas pulled him to the dance floor. He hadn't been lying, he was a terrible dancer. Seemed like he could feel the beat alright, but his limbs didn't move in time with it, at least not all of them at the same time.

Him trying to dance was really amusing. Marshall chuckled quietly, while he was moving to the same beat in a similar silly manner. He didn't care to dance right, it was all about moving your body and having fun with it. Which he had right now.

Damned be Ryan and that he had to be right. Again.


	27. Maple-Flavored Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Marshall is nervous to get back to work and face his friends. They know! and that's horrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I treat you guys like my parents used to treat me: We're going to have three days of gift giving. Today there's something sweet in the package.

"You're home?", his daughter asked surprised. She leaned on the back rest of the couch and looked at him inquisitive.

He lowered the notepad to his chest and looked up to her. "Took the day off." He raised an eyebrow, "Or is that not allowed anymore?"

Hailie shrugged. "Sure. Except you don't take days off. You barely take national holidays off."

"So? I can make exceptions. Didn't feel like going to the studio, so I didn't. Not a big deal." _You're hiding, pussy, but you can't hide forever._ He sat up to talk properly with her. "How was school today?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dad, you always ask the same question and I always give you the same answer: school was lame, like always. Don't you get tired of this?"

"Not at all", he smiled. "It's so boringly normal family-stuff, I love it."

She climbed over the back rest and sat next to him. "Whatever. Do you feel sick or something? When a dog doesn't eat, you know he's sick, right."

"I'm not a dog." _You're a cat, evidently, and you purr when somebody has his dick inside you._

She just gave him that look. This look of: don't be stupid.

"I eat fine."_ Want a saucer of cum? How you have a boyfriend and not had his cum yet? You're really bad at this, little gay looking boy._

She tilted her head: "That's debatable. You always eat weird when something's up, either too much or too little."

That earned an eye roll. "Who are you, my dietitian?"

"Somebody has to look after you. So, what's up? Why the day off?"

"Wanna watch some cartoons?", he asked instead and turned the TV on.

She nudged her elbow into his side. "I'm not six, Dad. I don't watch cartoons anymore."

Now he gave her that look. This look of: I know you better.

She snuggled next to him. "Is Phineas and Ferb on?"

"For you, always." He put an arm around her and snuggled back. The theme song played in the speakers and some colorful mischief flickered across the screen. Happy family fun time.

Which didn't last too long. "You haven't answered my question, though", Hailie said quietly, intently watching the show. "I know something's up, I'm not stupid."

He kissed the top of her head. "I know, I know. But you're my kid and you don't get to mother me. That's the wrong way around." _You wish you'd be her mother. Half the litter you got already, you reserve the other half for your boo to knock you up?_

"Is it because of Nicky? Did you do something stupid already?", she looked at him. "I would help you. I'm a girl, you know, I can give you some pointers. Lainy, too."

He sighed. "No, it's not Nicky. That's going fine, I think. At least that's what my therapist says and she would know, wouldn't she."

"You talk with your therapist about her but not me? That's mean, Dad, and cold. I feel left out now." She poked into his side. "I'm your daughter, I get dips on your girlfriend stories."

He looked at her skeptically. "Says who?"

"Says me."

"On who's authority?"

"Mine", she answered just as cocky as before. "So, was she at your party? I bet she was. Did you do couples costumes? That would be so cute." _Don't ever! I feel sick already, fag._

He cocked his head. "I ain't cute. Didn't we agree, you wouldn't ask me anymore? I remember a conversation like that."

"You said something about a mean grin, a small tidbit like that only buys you roughly two weeks of my silence on the matter. You know, I'm generous like that. If you want more, you need to tell more", Hailie explained calmly and business-like. Then, her expression turned pensive. "Wait a minute, I don't even know what you went as this year. Why don't I know that?"

"Because I didn't tell you? And no, we didn't do couples costumes. Nicky went in a kimono. I think, a real kimono even."

Hailie nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Exotic, colorful but also modest."

"And fitting. I think, Nicky is Japanese or something, and also does that kind of sword fighting, samurai style, so …" Shoot, of course she found a way to make him talk and of course he fell for it. _That's easy, you're a Chatty Cathy._ She knew, he didn't like to keep secrets from her and eventually he would spill. He always did. In the end, he did want to tell her. He liked Nicolas and if it worked out, he would like for them all to get along. Somewhen in the distant future. _How you wanna come out?_ When he found away to not tell them about the gay-thing at the same time.

"Cool. But why didn't you tell me about your costume? You always tell me. And you always show me, more importantly. I didn't see anything this year. Strange …" She furrowed her brows deeply. "What's going, Daddy? Something major is going on here. What's wrong?" Her voice sounded deeply troubled.

He rubbed his neck uncertain. "For what it's worth, it's nothing bad. It's my therapist's idea, kinda."

Hailie still looked at him with the same thoughtful and worried expression. No, wasn't worth anything apparently.

"Nicky's a little … different than what I usually go out with … you know", he chose his words carefully. _Yeah, I'll say. A little? He's gay, kinky and criminal - need I say more? You're already planning the wedding, ain't ya._ "And the costume was a little … embarrassing, kinda … Not necessarily something you'd want to see your Daddy in." _Why not? Looked good on you, you turned a few heads. A little too decent and too prude, but we'll work on that._

She shook her head. "Still not making it better, Dad. You have to try harder than that."

Marshall sighed deeply. "Don't do this to me, Hai-Hai. The party was bad enough already, okay. The guys kinda jumped me with their thing and … I can't really deal with this right now. Or ever, probably. Why you think my therapist has ideas on the matter at all, hm? And she ain't done with me yet, so, be patient. Can you do that for me?"

She cuddled into his arms properly again. "For now", she gave in, "and only because you're running away from it so hard, that you're avoiding the studio. For you, that's pretty big."

He kissed the top of her head again.

"Let's watch some cartoons. They always make things look easy", she said.

* * *

He knocked on the door. No voice answered from inside. Marshall knocked again. "I know you're in there, Lainy."

"What, Dad? I'm busy", she answered, her voice muffled by the wood.

He smiled briefly. That always happened when she called him dad. They both knew he wasn't, not in any biological sense and they both remembered the time when he just had been her uncle. Which she still sometimes called him, if she was angry or annoyed by him. All the he more did it make his heart all warm and fuzzy, when she called him dad, just because that's how she saw her life. Moving these sentimentalities aside, he opened the door and leaned against its frame. "Busy, huh?"

Lainy sat at her desk, book and notepad open. Looked like homework. "Yeah, busy. These equations won't calculate themselves." She looked up to him and took the second earbud out as well. "Or do you wanna help me with that?"

"God no", he chuckled softly. "That'll be a guaranteed F." Lainy had surpassed his abilities to help with her homework a long time ago. In English he might still be of some use, but math was beyond him at this point. He could use the rule of three almost with confidence, that took care of the math needs his life may have. For everything else he had people to do it for him.

She nodded strongly. "Thought so. So, what's up?"

"I wanted to give Tiger a good brush down, his winter coat is coming in. And you know how excited Lottie gets when she sees that. Thought, you wanna help?", he explained. It would be a lot less work if they took care of them at the same time. It also was more fun to do it together and spend some daughter-father-time in the process.

"Ask Hailie, is her dog."

He hummed disapprovingly. "No, she's not and you know that. Besides, Hai-Hai ain't home, today's training."

Lainy shrugged uninterested. "Then ask Whitney."

"That just gets out of hand, you know how she is", he sighed. "They need to be actually brushed every once in while, not just play brushing. Come on, I'm sure you could use a break, no? It's good for the brain to shake things up a little."

"Sure, Dad", she grinned and put the pen down. "Just to shake things up a little."

He answered with a grin of his own. "If you want, I can show you some moves, that'll sure shake things up."

Now Lainy bursted out laughing and shook her head. "No, please don't. The last time you tried that, I broke my ankle."

Her laugh was contagious and he joined in, laughing just as well at the memory. Her fall would've made any cartoon banana proud and her subsequent yammering had rivaled _The Dying Swan_. "Not my fault you were shimmying backwards. How often do I have to tell you girls to look where you walk? Or dance." He pushed himself from the doorframe. "I set things up in the living room already. Can you get Lottie?" He would go and look for their cat. Cats always knew the best hiding places, but hopefully Tiger was sunbathing right now, would make this a lot easier. Marshall kept his fingers crossed for himself.

Eventually, all pets were found and their living room turned into an animal grooming salon. He still wasn't sure which was better, this or when the girls turned their girliness up to elven and turned the living room into a beauty salon with spa. He usually tried not to get caught up in that, but sometimes he was too slow.

Tiger purred content in his lap, while he brushed the fur. The low, steady sound gave his ears an idea. Quietly he hummed the beat that was developing in his head. "I - wanna - rene - gade - down", he muttered, nodding his head to the rhythm. "Carry on and burn it down. Get away every bug. Take away and do for me, in a world without answers. This blurred voice …" He looked around searching, he should make note of this. Where was his notebook? Never far away from his side was where it's supposed to be. "Where should I go?, I say. Not that I don't care about life, as the future shakes. But the distance of my focus has become twisted …" Under the chair was his notebook. How did that happen? Anyway, he turned a new page and started writing down. "My feelings cloud up. How to chain them in place is something I've left behind in the past. And things are fine this way, because fooling myself like that only turned into betrayal. Yielding, I've put away … my hatred and even my … compassion? That doesn't sound right", he muttered to himself and made a note to look for a better word later. "You've got to be the one you want. Why don't you come, these are pieces of you. Breath in, breath out, fill out your voice. Calling … Find out your name. This is your life, you never lose yourself."

Tiger rubbed his head against Marshall's knee, totally not okay with being ignored like this. If he was supposed to get brushed, then his human should brush him thoroughly. That was their deal.

Marshall petted the cat apologetically. "Yeah, sorry, sorry. You have my undivided attention, hm." He pulled the cat back on his lap and resumed brushing him. "Better now?", he asked amused and earned more purring.

"So, you gonna tell me what's up?", Lainy asked.

He looked up from his task. "What? Nothing's up."

"Come on, Dad", voice and face clearly telling of her disbelief. "I know something's up."

He shook his head and repeated: "Nothing's up. Why would you think that?"

She made a vague gesture in his direction. But he returned just an inquisitive look. What did that mean? That everything about him was wrong? Thanks, he knew that already. She answered: "Because you're brushing the cat. Like, on purpose."

"So? He needs that", he defended himself. There was nothing wrong with brushing a cat. On the contrary, as a pet owner that was a very normal activity.

Lainy shook her head. "We don't usually sit down for that, like specifically sit down for that."

That was a good point. Usually they incorporated that when they played with him or when they watched TV and Tiger came to snuggle. So, Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. "Just thought, he needed that."

"You're bored", she told him outright.

He sighed deeply. "Totally." This had been another day not spent at the studio and he was completely out of things to do at home. Even watching _The Wire_ for the umpteenth time didn't do anything to distract him. He just thought about the party and the scene with his friends. Bad, very bad. Not having anything to do made him restless and he couldn't stand this feeling.

Lainy nodded understandingly. "Then, why aren't you at the studio?" The obvious place he should be.

Another deep sigh. "Because I did something really stupid and I'm waiting for things to quiet down first." _You're terrible at this, homo. You did exactly what you should be doing: get fucked in a skirt._

She chortled briefly. "Really, you're hiding? What did you do? They're all used to you being silly, that's no reason to hide." Even though that was very much the truth, hearing it like that kinda made it sound like a bad thing.

"Not silly-stupid", he explained, but kept brushing Tiger. "More bad-stupid, kinda. I don't wanna talk about it." Maybe, if he stayed home long enough, his friends would forget anything happened? _Come on! Even you aren't this stupid_. Yeah, hew knew that wasn't how the world worked.

Lainy moved on to more play with Lottie than brushing her. "Obviously, that's why you're hiding. You know, that's a dumb move, right? It won't get better by you sitting things out."

"I know that", he muttered. "I told you that first. Don't act like you're all grown up now." In this house, he was the parent, not her. _Try telling yourself that, homo. How'll you raise a kid, if you can't grow up yourself?_ Usually. Hopefully.

She smiled warmly at him. "Then take your own advice."

If it was that easy, everybody would take this advice. But it was actually really hard. He had no clue what to expect now that his friends knew. _Nothing! They always knew, don't you listen, fag?_ Even if they had always known, now he knew that they knew and that made everything different. The worst.

Also, how had they known? He had always been careful not to engage with these … urges. Not that he had always been successful at this - _Right, who're you kidding? You salivate at the sight of a dick, slut, that ain't a secret -_ but mostly he hadn't acted on these impulses in the past. Nobody should've known.

"Let me guess", she continued, "It had something to do with your costume, right?"

Instantly he looked up, a sharp pain in his neck from the forceful movement. "What?" He rubbed his neck.

"Well, usually you're all hyped for Halloween. It's like your favorite time of the year and up until last week that was still true. But suddenly, you were all silent about it. Not a single peep, you were just quietly brooding and mumbled 'I don't have shoes for that' to yourself."

"God, am I that obvious?", he sighed. That was a horrifying thought.

She shrugged. "So, what's up? Did you make fun of the wrong person with your costume or something?"

"Nah, they don't care about stuff like that." His friend knew him well enough to not get offended by his humor.

Lainy looked at him expectantly.

Another deep sigh. "Ain't something you girls should know."

Now Lainy looked at him doubtfully and with a hint of worry.

"It ain't anything bad", he added quickly. "At least, I think it ain't … I don't know. My therapist says, it's nothing bad. But what does she know."

"Maybe", Lainy suggested in a careful tone, "You should talk to her about it?"

He shook his head. "I already did. That's why I changed it last minute. And that's why I'm in trouble now. So no, thanks, she done enough."

"Then it can't be that bad. Therapy's there to make life better, not worse, right? She would never tell you to do something that's bad."

Marshall nodded begrudgingly. "I know that." _You loved it, girl! Don't act all sorry and sad._

"So? What's the problem then?", she asked.

He was the problem, as per usual. Gently he scratched Tiger's neck, as if that changed anything. "We shouldn't be talking about this."

For a long moment, Lainy was silent. "Maybe that's exactly what you should be doing?" _Exactly! Just get it out there and have it over with!_

"Why would you say that? That's a terrible idea", he negated immediately and strongly shook his head. He could never tell any of this to his daughters. That was literally one of his nightmares.

"Is it? It's clearly something that is important to you, but you feel ashamed about it. It's often really frightening to show something of yourself, that you feel ashamed about." She pulled Lottie into a hug and the dog licked her cheek for a moment. "I mean, I don't know what your thing is, but whenever something absolutely, horrifyingly embarrassing happens … I think of you, you know." She shrugged briefly and concentrated her eyes on Lottie's fur. "You always have my back and you love me. You just do. You don't care if I puked all over myself in the school play 'cause stage fright totally got the better of me. Or if I still can't sleep without my plush horsey even though I'm seventeen and that's just not cool anymore. You're there, when I need you and even when I don't. Sure, you make fun of me sometimes, but you're here, you always gonna be here and then it doesn't matter if other people laugh at me or pick on me or whatever." For a long moment, Lainy looked at him with sincere compassion. "You don't have a dad to lean on like we do, but you do have us. We're a family and we always gonna be there for each other. Especially if it's hard. You taught us that."

A shy smile stole itself onto his face. He pulled her into a loving hug. "You're the best, you know that?" How did his little girl sound so grown-up and smart? He at her age had been anything but. "I'll keep that in mind", he promised and gave her a kiss to her cheek. But not today, perhaps one day he could stand by himself with enough confidence to face his daughters. And perhaps their judgement wouldn't be as harsh as he expected it to be.

"You better do." Lainy leaned into the hug. "And you better go to the studio tomorrow. You've been moping and hiding enough, young man", she joked in a stern voice.

Marshall chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Marshall is writing into his notebook are from the Gangsta!-theme song "Renegade" by Stereo Drive Foundation, albeit badly translated by me.


	28. I Crawled Out My Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall manages to go back to his studio. There he has a long conversation with Denaun, a conversation he could've done without. And there's a catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Enjoy this little gift of an embarrassed and flustered Marshall, one of my favorite things.

It was Wednesday, when he finally found his way back to the studio. Two days off was already three too many, he was itching for some beats and rhymes and the whole creative energy of the booth had been missing from his body. Not a state he wanted to endure.

The room with the stuff from his costume was still locked and his costume was still in there. So much for cleaning it up later, that now seemed impossible. What if somebody came in while he was in there? _That's a dumb thought, girl._ He knew that. Everyone from the studio had been at the party, they all had seen him wearing it. _So then, how would being caught cleaning it up be worse? Your stupid horny ass really needs to get out more._ He didn't know how, it just was.

Regardless, he was sneaking around in the halls of the building and into the room, closing the door quietly. Not that anyone would hear or even care if they'd heard a random door shut. Still, he feared and he was compelled by it, so here he was, sneaking around his own fucking studio. He owned every goddamned thing in this building and the building itself, but he felt like a petty thief or some shit. Sometimes his life was really fucking absurd. _Who's fault is that, huh? Hint: This pussy likes to wear cat ears._

Marshall checked the bag with the blouse, the skirt and most importantly the corset. Everything was still there, of course, and still folded neatly. Who would've put them in disarray? The room had been locked. Shoes, cat ears and tail as well as the wig also went into their designated plastic bags. Things like these needed a lot of different compartments, otherwise a mishap was bound to happen. _For somebody who yells 'I don't give a fuck' from a stage, you give a lot of fucks. If you would put half as much care into your regular clothes, even a little gay looking boy like you could be quite presentable. Maybe then some dick would like to fuck you, not just Eminem, you know._ He moved careful and deliberate, when he handled each item. This was special to him, not just some run-of-the-mill t-shirt you could ball up and toss aside. The corset was a custom product, a lot of thinking and agonizing had gone into its purchase and some skillful work as well. Not just any corset would give his body a slight but clear reminiscence of feminine lines. He was slim but still build like a man. _Barely. Your ass wants men, it ain't one, that much is clear._ Usually a good thing, just not for the few times when he wanted to dress in something like this.

"Hey."

Marshall flinched at the sound of a voice. He almost dropped the small case of make-up, but caught himself fast enough. He turned around. "… Denaun?"

"You're really jumpy these days", Denaun observed.

Marshall shrugged. "Pays to be on guard, you know." _Bitch, shut your mouth if you ain't sucking a dick, there's only nonsense coming out of you._

Denaun frowned at those words. "You need help with that?"

"No! - I mean, thanks, but I'm almost done anyway, so …" He shrugged again.

There was a short pause. "Can I ask you something?" Denaun hadn't moved away from the door yet, but his eyes moved all over the table and the duffle bag with all his things inside and especially over Marshall.

Who had feared something like this would happen, when he came to the studio. Not just from his closest friends, but potentially from everyone who worked here. Now thinking about it, his therapist had been right. Going to the party in this kind of outfit had been some form of coming out and he was totally not prepared for that. _You rather want your boo coming in you. Maybe your friends are up to the task, slut, somebody has to fill you up soon. Now that they know, what's standing in your way? _On top of it all, he had kissed and danced with Nicolas in front of everyone, which confirmed any suspicion people would have about the meaning of his outfit. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure this one out. _Hey! I wanted to say that. Don't steal my lines, fag._ So he sighed and shrugged. "I rather you not, but whatever." He put the case for the make-up in the duffle bag and gathered the jewelry, he had worn that night.

The door closed. Denaun came a few steps closer. "So … You don't want to talk about this." A gesture to his stuff.

"What's there to talk about? I own a dress, essentially, that's it." He zipped the duffle bag up. _Good one, who're you trying to fool here? You love your dress, how's that just it?_

Another short pause. "It's none of my business, but …"

"It ain't", Marshall interrupted him. "Yet, here you are talking about it." _Get his mind off of things, homo, blow him or ride him, that'll change the subject real quick. Promise._ That was a bit gross, wasn't it? They were close friends, like brothers. He wouldn't have sex with him, no way that could happen. _As if that stopped you before, slut, a dick's a dick. They all fit, who cares who's attached._

Denaun came the last few steps closer and leaned against the table. "We're friends, nothing will ever change that. And if this is something you do, then that's that."

Marshall's fingers played with the zipper nervously. "But?" There had to be a but at the end of that sentence, just had to be._ Could be yours, homo. I tell you, much better than talking._

"No but." Denaun shrugged this time. "I just want to do right by you."

_Oh, he wants to fuck your mouth? Yeah bitch, he knows how to treat you right. _Confused Marshall raised his eyes. "What?"

"Look, I figured you're into guys in some way back when nobody listened to us. That's been a long time. I don't really understand how that's appealing but I don't need to. There's nothing for me to do, when you pine over a guy or something. That's your business and whatever guy you're doing it with. The same way you going with a chick ain't my business either, regardless if I think she's hot or not." Denaun explained calmly and his gaze drifted through the room. Not to avoid him, just to give an air of casualness to this conversation. "You don't need to say anything if you don't want to. Just don't do anything stupid, aight. Guys can be mean if they just want to fuck. We both know that, hell, we both done that. You get that?"

Marshall nodded and answered slowly: "I'm aware."

"Good. Now this thing", Denaun gestured a little to the duffel bag with the oh so telling costume inside, "That's different. At least, if you keep doing that in front of us - which you totally can, if you want to", he was quick to add. "What I mean is …" Denaun paused for a long moment, clearly trying to find the right combination of words. "At the party, I didn't really know what to do, you know? I mean, I've seen you in a pink dress before, but then you had been all joking and silly about all of it, the whole video shoot through you've been just a goofball. It wasn't serious to any of us. But at the party the other night … Somehow that felt different. You was different." Now Denaun looked at him. "You was … kinda more you?", a helpless shrug.

Marshall frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm always me." _Don't make me laugh, little gay looking boy, you're so deep in denial, you need me._ What's that supposed to mean? He didn't deny anything, he was just not engaging.

"You've changed. I mean, we all have. That's life, right. We're not twenty anymore and shit happens, so we change."

He still didn't know what Denaun was trying to say here. Of course life happened and he wasn't the same guy than he had been twenty years ago. Who was? But he was still Marshall. _Still the same gay horny ass as always. Which reminds me, you didn't celebrate your anniversary: Your cherry popped twenty years ago. No cake? No binge? No fuck party? Disappointing._ Interesting, all parts of his mind were bad at math. Actually - _Nerd!_ \- the anniversary would've been last year and he had been a little busy then, what with staying sober and promoting the _Relapse_ album and everything. _No wonder you don't get fucked enough anymore, you became a boring and fun-hating recluse._

Denaun hauled himself up to sit on the table. "That's how I know the costume that night wasn't just a costume, not for you anyways. It meant something to you. You … I don't know, there was just this vibe about you. You smiled even. Hell, I didn't realize you don't do that anymore, not like that anyway, until you just smiled at me that night. All bright and shiny and … happy, I think."

A blush crept from his ears down into his cheeks, Marshall felt them warm up fast. "How drunk've you been? You must've imagined things or some shit."

"I'm serious. I think, unburdened is a good word? And I have no idea how a nice dress does that for you or what all of this means. I figure, that's what your therapist's for. But more importantly, I didn't really know what to do - and I still don't … You're my friend and I'll always have your back. Thing is, I don't know how to do that right now." Denaun paused for a moment again, his gaze drifting through the room and his jaw muscles clenched visibly. He seemed nervous. "That's what my question is. I figured, it's best to ask you directly, instead of making stuff up I have no clue about, you know. At the party, I was surprised and I also wasn't sure if I saw that right at first. And even if I saw that right, what the hell does this mean. I don't know any how these things work. So I played it cool and talked to you normal, the same way as always. Plain old Marshall. That's the best thing I could come up with. But …" Denaun looked over to him again and rubbed his neck. Obviously uncertain with his words and uncomfortable with this conversation.

As if Marshall felt any better right now. Why was Denaun talking about this? And so long even. Couldn't he get to the point already?

"But maybe that's not the right thing to do here? Maybe that's not having your back on this. Maybe if you dress like a girl, maybe you want to be treated that way, too? I don't know. And I can't know unless you talk to me. If you want to do this more often … or permanently, if you finally get over yourself with all of this, that's good and right and you have my support … I just don't want to say something mean to you without knowing, aight? This is probably hard enough as it is and you don't need me being an ignorant bastard about this. But I don't know how you feel and I can't understand how this is a thing in the first place. And I don't need to, but I need to know how to have your back. And if that means calling you Maria, I'm down with that. Just … Just let me know, aight? You're like a brother to me - and if you want to be a sister, that's fine with me. Just let me know, how to have your back on this, when you can, aight?"

Marshall groaned loudly. "You didn't just say that." He collapsed onto the table, all tension and tautness draining out of his body and his forehead hit the wooden tabletop. _Come on, bitch, this is awesome! That's what I call a best friend, one that finally calls your girly ass out. It's about damn time._ This was just as bad one on one as it had been the other night with all of them looming over him. What the hell did they think of him? _That you're a better bitch than a dog?_ So much for friends.

Denaun flinched slightly. "You okay?"

"No! I had to listen to you ramble off like that for forever." He propped his chin up on one hand and looked up to Denaun. "I can assure you, I don't want to be a girl. I'm not transexual or whatever you think's going on here", he huffed.

Denaun just nodded, but didn't say a word in response. Was it now Marshall's turn to ramble off? He could forget that!

Marshall stood up straight again. Bend over a table probably wasn't the best choice of position during this awkward mess of a conversation. _Au contraire! Take your pants off and he can teach your needy ass, just how much better you are as a bitch._ "It's just a dress, aight? Nothing special, nothing to worry about. I'm still plain old Marshall and it's totally okay to talk to me as you always do, regardless if I'm wearing jeans or a skirt. … And for the love of God, never call me Maria. That just feels wrong."

Denaun nodded again. "Good to know then."

"But really? You see me in a skirt on Halloween of all nights and your first thought is that? Like, all of that. I think, you need some help here, not me." He shoved Denaun's shoulder playfully. "It's a costume, not a liver transplant. No need to take it more serious than it is."

Denaun shoved back in kind. "It wasn't my first thought, give me some credit. Like I said, you was … different wearing that thing. A little more like you used to be and then some. Unburdened, maybe less restrained, that's what it looked like at least, right. So I figured, your therapist had something to do with it, getting you out of your shell and out of the crap you deal with. And then it makes sense to think, that if a dress makes you more you, maybe that is who you would actually be if you could. You know?" He shrugged.

"Who I would actually be?", Marshall frowned. "You really think, I'm a girl or what?"

"How would I know? Half the time I was thinking I imagined you being into guys. You always tried so hard not to, at least sober you did. Considering how the culture is and with what kind of attitudes most of us grow up with, I can't really blame you for keeping it secret. But how would I know, if you’re into guys because you're a gay man or because you're actually a straight woman in there? At the party the other night, the latter thing seemed rather plausible."

Marshall snorted in derision. "Come on, don't be stupid. There's a pretty big difference between the two things."

"I would think so."

"Then what the hell?", Marshall asked annoyed. It was one thing for his therapist to interpret too much into his own words and come up with this kind of idea. It was a very different thing for his closest friends to think this, just because of a fucking Halloween costume. _If you could … _Shut up, he was well aware that it wasn't actually some fake bullshit. He knew that. But they didn't!

Denaun sighed quietly. "Do you realize, you still haven't told us? We all have known each other most of our lives and Ryan's even helping you with your boyfriend and we two been talking about this now for almost an hour or so, but you still haven't actually said it out loud. Whatever _it_ really is. To any of us. You didn't even say anything to Proof as far as I know. I just call it how I see it and what I saw at the party was a person comfortable in their own skin - which made me realize, you normally ain't. What am I supposed to think, hm? What would you think, if the roles were reversed? I get that this is hard. That's precisely why I'm asking you straight to your face, how you want this to go, how can I be your friend in this. Because if you're a gay man, I don't really need to do anything, except maybe go to a gay club with you some time. But if you're a woman, I should treat you as such, right? I mean, there _is_ a difference in hanging out with a guy or a girl. And if that's what you want, what you are, I want to do right by you. That's all."

Marshall slumped down on a nearby chair. "Do I really have to say it? Now?"

"You might as well. It's what this conversation's all about anyway, so why not?"

He sighed. Good question, why not? Denaun tried really hard to be a good friend here, going way further than he needed to. He probably deserved to hear it. Suddenly, Marshall felt stupid and childish, that he never said anything before. It wasn't too big of a deal, at least not as big as what Denaun actually thought. Compared to that, this should be a cakewalk, right?

He took a deep breath. It been a long time since he actually said that particular sentence out loud in a serious manner. "I … Fuck, I don't even know why this is so hard. It's just words." He ran a hand over his face frustrated with himself. "Uhm … I'm gay." Marshall held his breath.

But the world didn't fall apart.

Denaun nodded. "Okay. Good to know."

Marshall blinked surprised. "Really? That's all you have to say? Okay?"

"Is there more to say? I told you, I've known for years. All the freaking out and trying to deal with this, to understand this - I've already done that. Wasn't easy, I tell ya, but you're my friend and that don't change. Period."

Marshall felt dizzy. "I don't … This feels so fucking weird. This is just bizarre. I mean, okay? That's it? Okay! This ain't real. Stop fucking with me, dude. This ain't funny. I'm in upside-down world or some shit." He got up from the chair and started pacing through the room.

"Why?" Denaun asked curiously and his eyes followed Marshall pacing. "Should I not be okay with this? Do you want me to freak out? Looks to me like you got that covered."

"I'm not freaking out!", Marshall snapped at him.

Denaun raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Of course not, you're all chill and relaxed."

"Oh, fuck you." Marshall kept pacing through the room, clenching his fists. They trembled.

Denaun watched him a couple of paces. "You're gonna throw up again?"

Marshall halted and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. If Denaun wasn't freaking out, then there was no reason for himself to freak out. Right? Right? He had said it out loud and meant it and nothing bad had happened. Surprise!

"What happened to you?"

Marshall turned around to face Denaun. "What?"

Denaun gestured at him. "That ain't a normal reaction, dude. You tell me that you're gay and _you_ almost have another panic attack. Come on, what is this?"

"Where you get that idea from? I never had a panic attack before."

Denaun snorted disbelieving. "At the party? You threw up and blacked out and I'm sure you was almost choking to death at one point. I ain't an expert, but that was an attack and you were in panic. How you call that?"

"Nah, man, you're blowing that out of proportion. I was just … surprised and a little stressed?"

Denaun's expression told every shade of disbelief and doubt there was.

Marshall threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Fine, maybe. But in my defense, the last time I said it, I almost died. So, I got every right to panic."

"What? Are you serious?"

He just shrugged in response.

"That's fucked up, man. Really? I don't even … I'm sorry. How did that happen?"

Another shrug. "Nothing special, just a homophobic asshole. They tend to try to kill you whenever they find out. Why you think I hid it for so long? Or tried to at least, apparently I did a pretty bad job at that."

Denaun seemed genuinely distraught. "Not that someone tried to murder your ass. I mean, insults and fights I would expect, but … Man, you really get in some crazy shit."

"Tell me about it", he muttered and sat down again.

"I'm going out on a limb here and say, you never had anybody who was okay with this, did you? I mean, growing up."

Marshall rubbed his neck. "Of course not. I barely had anybody growing up and none of them were exactly what you call open-minded people."

"Yeah, my family probably wouldn't've been too happy, either, if I was gay", Denaun mused. "Hell, even with the others there was some hard fighting. Accepting's a slow-"

"What you mean, the others?", Marshall interrupted.

Denaun smiled crooked. "Now we're all fine with you being gay, but not to throw anyone under the bus, some of us had an easier time adjusting, others took it harder."

"You're only five people." Also, Ryan didn't count, since he had sex with guys as well, at least he'd had sex with one guy, that Marshall knew without a doubt. Left four of his friends. How much was some of four? And what meant, they had taken it harder? Did they hate him secretly? But why hide it for what sounded like many years? That didn't make sense. "What're you saying?"

"Don't flip out again. It's fine now", Denaun tried to reassure him. "All five of us are your friends, gay-thing and all. Considering your panic, it's probably best that you didn't see the freak out. There was some serious unlearning to do for some of us. I mean, you're not the only one who doesn't come from an open-minded home."

Marshall weighed his head. "Yeah, I know."

Denaun watched him carefully for a moment. "You wanna talk about it? I mean, the asshole who tried to get you dead. Sounds serious and your panic looks serious."

"No, not really." He rather forget it happened at all, but some things stayed with you.

"You talk with your therapist about it?"

Marshall shook his head. Then he huffed: "Don't give me that look. I have a lot of shit to go through, that takes time."

"That I believe", Denaun snorted amused.

Marshall kicked out for Denaun's leg. "Hey."

Denaun smirked briefly. "Well, if you ever need to cry and your therapist doesn't answer her phone, I'm here."

"That's awfully nice of you", he sneered sarcastically.

Denaun shrugged. "You’d do the same for me."

Of course he would. His friends were like his family and he'd do anything for them. Listening to the shit they've been through and giving them support to do better was the easiest thing in the world. They didn't do that often, though. Probably they should. Marshall sighed at the thought. That's what his therapist would say, wasn't it. "I had a crush on the guy, that's why he beat me up."

"You really know how to pick 'em", Denaun quipped half joking and half sympathetic.

Marshall briefly ran a hand over his eyes. "I was like thirteen or so, what'd you know at that age? Nothing. He seemed like a cool guy, how was I supposed to know he'd flip out like that?"

As he stopped talking, Denaun asked: "You two been friends or something?"

Marshall swallowed hard. "He'd been a friend of Ronnie's. I was crashing at my granny's for a few weeks. One night, Ronnie had his friends over and, of course, his best friend, too. So …"

"Oh, I see", Denaun said quietly.

Marshall looked at him questioningly. "You see what?"

"How did he find out, though?", Denaun asked, bypassing an answer. "I mean, did you just tell him?"

"I might as well have." No, talking with a friend about this was not easier than talking to his therapist. Some things just weren't meant to be said out loud. "I flirted with him … Well, what I thought that was anyway. It's a learned skill, and as with most things, I never learned that. So, total disaster. Which in itself, fine, whatever, just … He didn't take me serious, but I was fucking serious - as much as some know-nothing teen can be anyway. So, to prove how much I meant it, I … - fuck, don't laugh, aight - I wanted to blow him." That probably had been the most stupid idea he'd ever had. Sure, Victor had ran off his mouth about blowjobs back then, but only because he'd seen it in some shitty porn. Now, in hindsight and as an adult, Marshall knew how fucking stupid the guy had talked and he himself had been even stupider for falling for it. That's what you get, when kids had to teach themselves these things.

Denaun snickered. "Yeah, that'll show him you're serious. Dude, at thirteen? That's a little precocious, don't you think?"

Marshall kicked him again. "I ain't precocious with anything, aight. And I said, don't laugh."

"Sorry, sorry. Go on. I assume, he didn't like the offer?"

He grumbled. "He would've, if I'd been a girl, I bet. But no, that's when he went ballistic. Started calling me names, shoving me, shit like that. Easy stuff, right, nothing I wasn't used to. But - and don't ask me why - but I talked back, which I knew just made things worse, but … I don't know, I wanted him to like me and you need to fight for that, that much I knew even then. No one just likes you out of the goodness of their heart. - Anyway, somehow I said those words to him. I'm gay. He punched me so hard, I fell to the floor. That must've been a signal or something, 'cause the rest of them joined in, all lining up in a circle kicking me and then I blacked out. Next thing, I'm in a hospital and my mom's yelling at me."

"Sounds like your mom", Denaun agreed. "But yeah, I get your panic now. Something like that won't make you keen to say it too often."

Marshall's fingers picked at the screw that stuck out halfway from the side of the chair. "Nope, it doesn't. Ain't like that's the only time anything went bad because of this, but it kinda was the worst. So, after a while, you just shut up about it."

"Of course, sounds like a sensible decision, you know, to stay alive. I get that … Uhm, I have a question, though. You probably won't like it, I think …", Denaun started but Marshall interrupted him.

"It's about Ronnie, right? Yeah … I don't know. I mean, they were his friends and that was his home, so …", he shrugged. "I didn't see him for a while. I wasn't allowed into my grandma's home for months after that, so not much chance to spend time with him. But it wasn't quite the same afterward. He sometimes would look at me weird … you know, disgusted and hostile. That's what it felt like, anyway. We only got better when I started dating Kim." He still didn't remember if Ronnie had joined the circle or not, but what difference did it make? The only member of his family that ever seemed to care about him and that he had looked up to, had hated him just as much as any of them. Still, him being dead hurt as hell even now. Without him, Marshall would've never started to rap and probably would've never had a chance to make something with his life. He just wished, he hadn't let Ronnie down so hard.

Denaun hummed low. "Yeah, I'd hoped for a better answer, honestly. I mean, you two were close, that should count for something."

"Well, it didn't."

"Apparently. - I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry you had to go through something like this. And all alone, too."

Marshall stood up again and grabbed the bag with the clothes. "Yeah, well, I don't need your pity. It was a long time ago, doesn't matter now."

"It's not pity. It's called empathy, you stubborn ass. Take it, if somebody's nice to you, don't throw it away", Denaun huffed.

Uncomfortable Marshall rubbed his neck. "Sorry, I … I still kinda expect something bad to happen. I mean, you're a normal person, why should you care, right."

"Because I'm your friend and I care a great deal about you. Are you this anxious with Ryan, too? You seriously need to take your therapy up a notch, man. This is basic friendship-stuff."

"Ryan's different", Marshall interjected promptly. "I mean, you're the first normal person I talk to about this stuff. Of course that makes me nervous."

Denaun looked at him skeptically. "Normal person? What's that supposed to mean?"

Marshall sighed. "Well, I mean, my therapist kinda has to, right. That's her job, she got education in this and it's her life's mission to heal sick people, or whatever. Fine, I can see why she'd be nice about this. Nicolas also makes sense, he's kinda in the same boat and he wants to fuck me, so of course he's gonna be nice, too. I totally understand that. And Ryan, well, that's a similar story, I suppose. I mean, he has a wife now, but that doesn't change the past, and he gets a lot of entertainment out of this whole mess. All of that makes sense, but you … You're just nice, just for the sake of it. There has to be a catch somewhere and the only things I can come up with, all of them end bad for me." He shrugged. "This here, it's just weird, man. All of it."

Denaun slid from the table he had been sitting on. "You, my friend, are one seriously broken kitten." He laid an arm around Marshall's shoulders. "But if you need some sorta catch here to feel okay again, I can give you one."

"Kitten?" Didn't the phrase usually include a puppy?

Denaun grinned at him. "Nicolas was right, the cat ears suit you well. Now, go and bring your clothes to the car and when you come back, we gonna do some work."

Marshall nodded. That sounded like a plan. "Okay. But what's with the catch?"

"Next time we hang, you bring your boyfriend."


	29. Hi, My Name Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all hang out at a strip club. Marshall and his friends - and Nicolas.  
Marshall is decidedly not thrilled about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend for a minute Marshall is great with language and when he puts his mind to it, he can accomplish great things. Learning a new language is a lot of hard work and it usually takes years to achieve some sort of fluency. I should know, I (didn't) learned to speak four additional languages. And it's fucking hard! But, for the sake of the story I will pretend Marshall is some sort of linguistical genius and a fast learner. He and Nicolas need a bit more communication than just text messages. So, even though it's only been five weeks since the two started dating, Marshall's efforts to learn American Sign Language progressed rapidly.  
After all, this is fiction, guys 😉

Denaun made sure _next time we hang_ meant soon, like next week kind of soon. Which felt too soon for Marshall, but apparently he wasn't asked about this, so was the deal with catches.

"You don't have to do this", he said to Nicolas. They were still sitting in his car, parked in front of the strip club. "They're just messing with me, you can opt out. You don't owe them anything."

Nicolas waved his objections aside and got out of the car.

So, Marshall sighed and got out of the car himself and followed his boyfriend inside. Once more these days he had this bad feeling creeping around his guts. All of this felt wrong. That his friends knew he was gay, that he'd spilled his guts to Denaun, that his friends and Nicolas were about to hang out for a whole night. He felt like getting sick again.

He gave a short nod to his friends as he sat down.

"I took the liberty to order for you", Denaun said with a smirk and slid a glass with a bright red liquid to him. "Enjoy."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Come on, seriously."

Next to him a quiet chuckle from Nicolas. Denaun slid a drink to him as well, a bottle of beer, but Nicolas shook his head.

"He doesn't drink", Marshall explained. "A pop's fine."

Ryan grinned at him. "So, you understand sign language now?"

Marshall rolled his eyes. "That ain't sign language, dumbass, that's knowing each other." He stood up, a short gesture to Nicolas that he would get him that pop. It was just a pull of the fist, easy to remember. The book had turned out to be useful after all and there was a surprising amount of material online. After long nights on his laptop, he finally felt confident enough to use a couple of easy signs with Nicolas. The bartender luckily understood spoken language, though. His boyfriend liked the taste of lemon, Marshall knew, so that's what he got him. When he was back at his friend's table, they all looked at him smirking. "What?" Did he miss something? Had he something on his face?

"Sit down, Kitten", Denaun said. "We're here to enjoy the view, no reason to be antsy. Relax."

Nicolas gave him an amused wink. Probably about the kitten, possibly about the advice to relax, too. Seemed like he'd fit right in here.

Marshall grumbled. This did not bode well for him. The aftermath of his Halloween costume just kept coming, didn't it. Why had he needed to do that? Why had Nicolas asked for it in the first place? Cat? Kitten? They all gone crazy.

Nicolas nudged his side and made a gesture with his thumb and index next to his face, looked almost like he twirled a mustache. No, less twirling, more stroking, short and sharply.

"Oh no", he groaned low. "That's kitten or cat or whatever, ain't it." It wasn't twirling a mustache, it was stroking whiskers.

Nicolas signed: >Correct.<

"I think, we gonna have good fun tonight", Ryan proclaimed and drank from his beer.

That's exactly what Marshall was afraid of.

* * *

The first round of questions was easy and boring and not very informative. His friends repeated the things, they already new from Marshall's recounting or similar mundane questions and Nicolas kept nodding or shaking his head.

"So, you work in security?", Von asked. Nicolas nodded.

"You're self-employed, I heard", was his follow-up question. Nicolas nodded.

"You two met via an app?", Rufus asked. Nicolas nodded.

"You read a lot?", Ryan asked. Nicolas nodded.

"Something special? Fan of anything we know?", was his follow-up question. Nicolas shook his head.

"You're from Detroit?", Denaun asked. Nicolas nodded.

"You have kids?", Ryan asked. Nicolas shook his head.

"You have siblings?", Ondre asked. Nicolas shook his head, then shrugged.

"You've been deaf from birth, or?", Von asked. Nicolas nodded.

"The hot singer form _Bastard's_, that ain't your girlfriend?", Denaun asked. Nicolas shook his head, but glared warningly.

"The cat girl was your idea?", Rufus asked. Nicolas nodded with a grin.

"You have a cat?", Denaun asked jokingly. Nicolas weighed his head.

"You like cats?", was his more important follow-up question. Nicolas nodded.

"You have a roommate?", Ryan asked. Nicolas nodded.

"He gay too?", was his follow-up question. Nicolas shook his head.

"He works with you, right?", Von asked. Nicolas nodded.

"You like music?", Rufus asked. Nicolas shrugged with his shoulders.

Von shoved his friend slightly. "He's deaf, of course he doesn't like music." But Nicolas shook his head about this comment.

Marshall sat next to them, sipped from his slightly bitter strawberry-cherry mix and watched the girls dance. The aesthetics of a body moving to the beat, this he liked very much. It was like watching music instead of listening to it. Especially if the body knew how to move well, that could be just as thrilling.

But in this moment he used the sight for distraction. He had warned Nicolas about this interrogation, but he still came, so his boyfriend could deal with this on his own. Marshall had no intention of joining the conversation. That would only backfire on him, like everything else did.

"What's with the dog tags?", Ondre asked. Nicolas made a gesture with his hand.

"What does that mean? Kitten, we need you to translate."

Marshall looked to Denaun. "Seriously, stop calling me that." _But it fits you so well, I might need to use that, too, homo._ "And I ain't doing nothing tonight. You wanted him here, then you'll have to deal with his deafness the same shitty way I have to. Tough luck."

"You let your boyfriend hanging like that?", Rufus asked bemused. "Did you use up all your niceness already?"

Marshall flipped him off and turned back to the dancers.

"You served in the army?", Ondre rephrased his question.

Nicolas shook his head. "Mercenary."

"Oh, he talks", Rufus said surprised. "You never said he can talk. Why the big fuss then?"

Marshall snorted annoyed. "Don't get used to it. He hates talking."

"Mercenary. They take deaf people?", Von asked. Nicolas shrugged.

"Then you must be pretty good, I guess", Ondre added. Nicolas nodded and grinned his typical way: mean and provocative.

"Served anywhere interesting?", Rufus asked. Nicolas shrugged again.

Ryan guessed on that: "Probably too many words. How 'bout this: You like to box? I know you and Kitten had a boxing date once, right."

"Hey, let me out of this", Marshall interjected. "And don't you start, too."

Nicolas smiled briefly. "He's not half bad. Quick on his feet, good stamina. Fun."

Marshall growled low on that and rubbed his ear.

"I think you made Kitten all shy and rosy", Denaun joked.

"Shut up."

"Are you sure", Ryan started, "you wanna deal with this son of a bitch? He's quite a handful."

Nicolas looked over to Marshall, who felt that stare. He always did and he shifted in his seat because of it. _That's already making you hard? You're seriously underfucked, bitch, get his dick finally in you. What's a boyfriend good for, if he won't fuck you?_ Without a warning there were thin lips on his own, a short, sweet kiss. Marshall flinched. "What's that for!", he huffed. They were in public, goddammit.

Nicolas turned to Ryan again. "I like a good challenge."

"Then you found a real piece of work. Good luck", Ryan wished him amused but with an undertone, maybe sneaky.

"I'm right here, guys, I can hear you", Marshall grumbled and took a sip from his drink. Or he tried to, but diverting his attention between the conversation and the dancers and Nicolas's kiss somehow didn’t leave any brain power for his motor skills to work with. Long story short, he spilled his drink. Luckily, mostly on the table. _That's what you get from drinking like a girl._ "Aw, man", he muttered.

"Watch the pretty ladies", Denaun hushed him. "Or maybe don’t. It’s enough if you spill your drink all over the table, don't need you to spill anything else."

Marshall kicked him under the table for that.

"Hey, you need to aim better", Von complained and kicked back.

Marshall flipped him off. A quick look to Nicolas he couldn't entirely suppress and that smirk on his boyfriend's face made his ears heat up again. That's the smirk right before he usually said _adorable_. Please not here! And he wasn't!

But Nicolas didn't say anything. Yet.

"I need a new drink." Marshall stood up.

* * *

When his second drink, unsuspicious coke, was half down, the conversation had moved away from interrogation and more into a casual back and forth between friends. About how hot this or that dancer was, how good or crappy a twist on some TV show had been, that work was going more or less good, something from the news, opinions on the weather - the usual stuff people talked about.

Until Ryan said: "I've got a question for you, Nico. Last one, I promise."

"Come on, give it a rest." Marshall had enough of these questions. It had been quite pleasant afterward and if that would be how this night ended, fine.

Nicolas just shrugged. He didn't seem to care either way.

Ryan with curious and drunk eyes leaned forward. "Okay, Marshall has been bitching about this sex-embargo you put on him for quite a while now. What's up with that? You met over a sex-app, I mean, you can't be that precious about it. So, what's up with that?" What shitty questions lay at the bottom of a glass of Hennessy. Or in this instance, four.

"For fuck's sake, really?", Marshall huffed. "That's none of your business, asshole. And I didn't bitch about it, liar, I just said, there wasn't any."

Nicolas gave him a doubtful look.

"What? He asked for details", Marshall defended himself, "I had to explain why there weren't any."

"Blabbermouth." Despite that word, Nicolas didn't seem upset and hardly annoyed. So, a plus?

Von looked them both over quite closely. "You might wanna think that over, dude. Lots of girls have been burned already, trying to withheld anything from him. I mean, it's a stupid move either way. Marshall doesn't usually go for that."

"And I don't have to, evidently the embargo has been lifted. He had his head under my skirt. As far as green lights go, that's pretty bright, don't you think? So, can we stop talking about this now?" Marshall really liked to know, why people had such an interest in these kinds of things and how he so often ended up in the middle of these conversations. _You should listen to yourself, then you would now, fag._

Nicolas held up both of his hands and made a gesture with them, that could only be described as: blablabla. It probably meant exactly that.

>Shut up<, Marshall replied in sign language. That was one easy to learn phrase. One of his first ones even, very useful. It wasn't exactly as impossible as he thought it'd be, or at least understanding signing was going well enough, signing himself on the other hand was harder to manage. Recognizing a gesture to mean something was easier than to remember all the words he needed to use in a sentence or the rules to build a sentence. But this particular sign, that just made sense.

Nicolas smirked at him. >You asked for this<, he signed. Then he turned to Ryan and said out loud: "You saw the skirt, he has one precious ass. Something like that you handle with care. Wouldn't be of much use, if I broke him too soon."

Marshall smacked his forehead and sighed. There it was, his bad feeling came true right about now.

"So, it's really like that, Marshall's the girl between you two?", Rufus asked. "I knew he's gay, but I didn't think he would be the one getting stuffed. Although …"

"I ain't", he denied promptly. _Try that again, fag. I know your sex fantasies, slut, you want dic-_ Not necessary now! "Also, not anybody's business. Or do you wanna volunteer your favorite position, huh?"

Rufus took a sip from his beer. "I can, if you want. It's the cowgirl. Wanna know why?"

"You're a lazy son of a bitch", Marshall was not at all surprised. "And I didn't need to know that."

"You asked."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "That was rhetorical and sarcastic. Dude, come on, don't act more boneheaded than you look."

Ryan clicked with his tongue, a smug expression on his face. "I don't think you need to be careful with him. Not in that sense." His eyes lay on Marshall for a very long moment.

"He ain't, believe me", Marshall muttered, remembering the Halloween night. Nope, that had been sexy and great, but not careful. "Patience ain't his thing." He threw a reproachful look to Nicolas, but the man just smirked as a response. Obviously Nicolas's care for whether or not he broke Marshall's ass had its limits.

"You wanna share with the class?", Ryan asked amused. "You still owe me something hot and steamy, you know."

Marshall smacked his forehead again. The fuck did he say that for? But Nicolas made him sound like a soft, petite girl, who couldn't handle sex. Precious? This he could not stand for. Also, he was tired of Nicolas being so cautious and gentle with him, especially since that wasn't what the other wanted. Nicolas wanted rough, so he should take it, Marshall could handle that. Their Halloween-quickie had been fine, despite the roughness. Hopefully that had shown, that he indeed would be able to handle his boyfriend. Better than Nicolas getting bored of him and whatever he liked Marshall for wouldn't be enough to hold him. All of this though, nothing his friends needed to know, so he stood up. "Know what, I don't have to put up with this. Call me, when your senses are back."

But Nicolas signed sternly: >Sit down.<

Marshall sat back down again.

"So …", Denaun stretched that word out, his eyes focused on Marshall for a second, before he turned to Nicolas, "You like skirts, huh? Wouldn't it be easier to date girls, then?"

Deliberately Nicolas shook his head, clearly negating the assumption. Also, he gave Marshall a smirk, "He looks good in one." On that, Marshall blushed, after all, he thought so himself and hearing a compliment about it, was nice. "Besides, women cry too much. Too soft, too weak. Most of them fight bad. I like people with an edge."

He liked people with an edge? That Marshall knew he had. His personality had sharp lines that often hurt the people around him and himself. He risked too much, even for small gains. Fighting was etched into him, often even when he wanted to flee. Was that what Nicolas liked him for? Luckily, he didn't know how Marshall had been regularly crying a couple of weeks ago - and it had been out of the ordinary, so, maybe that wouldn't bother. And too soft? With his family always, but that shouldn't matter. Nicolas was being soft sometimes as well, then there was a bit of leeway here. Could work.

Rufus cocked his head. "What does that mean? Why should they be good at fighting?" He was a bit confused.

"So putting them down is more fun", Nicolas explained the obvious.

"He means", Marshall stepped in to salvage any good opinions his friends might have of Nicolas, "That he likes things a bit kinky, you know. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe", Ondre said reluctantly. "Look, Marsh can make his own decisions, usually bad ones, but we're his friends and there's a line here. We won't let him get hurt by some random asshole. You understand what I'm saying?"

Marshall frowned. "Hey, stop meddling in everything. I let the thing with Danny slide, but ya'll really need to keep your noses out of my life."

"That's why I'm here", Nicolas agreed. "I'm serious about him."

"Already?", Ryan asked skeptically. "Ain't it a little early to be serious here? It's only been a month or so. Don't try too hard, that'll only make things worse.”

Marshall took in a sharp breath and growled angrily. "Says the one who doesn't take his marriage of almost a decade serious at all. Ya'll don't get a say in who I date or don't date. I can take care of myself. So, back off! This was a lot of fun, but it's over now. We're going." He stood up with force, so much so that his chair fell over, and he gripped Nicolas's arm, dragged him with.

* * *

Outside the club, Nicolas halted their steps. >They're your friends. That's important.<

Marshall snorted dismissively. "They're nosy sons of bitches. They don't have a right to talk to you that way. Or accuse you like that. They wouldn't if you were a chick, so they don't get to just because you're a guy."

Nicolas smiled slightly in response.

"I'm just fed up with them scrutinizing everything. Not just tonight, you know. Ryan's been up in my business for weeks over this and Denaun pestered me so long I actually told him." Marshall shook his head and fell against the wall of the building.

>They're your friends<, Nicolas repeated. He gave him a quick kiss. >That's what friends do. That's what you need.<

Marshall frowned. Did he see that right? "What I need? I don't need this. I don't even want ya'll to meet and definitely not for ya'll to be at each other's throats. It's like hyenas fighting in there." He did not want his friends and his boyfriend to fight. He would only lose in that.

>You think too much. You have friends who take you for who you are and who care about your well-being. They're just making sure, I'm trustworthy. Don't worry about me, I can handle this.< Nicolas signed plainly and calmly, his expression filled with determination.

Marshall bit down the smile, that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You're serious about this?"

Another short kiss, then Nicolas nodded. >I'm serious about you. When're you getting that into your thick skull?<

"When it starts making sense." Marshall shrugged. "I mean, Ryan's right. It's only been five weeks. Eleven, if you count the motel. That ain't a lot of time. And we've been mostly texting. There ain't much to go on here, honestly."

Nicolas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"So I counted", he snarled.

Another short kiss. >You're serious, too.<

Marshall sighed. Of course he shouldn't. He shouldn't even be talking to Nicolas anymore, if he thought about this rationally and logically. There was a good chance, he may have killed his ex-girlfriend. Marshall wasn't sure, but by now he wouldn't put it past his boyfriend. Which was the most gigantic red flag there could be. Even if not, he knew there were bad things to come. Nicolas was holding himself back so as not to scare him away. Perhaps more accurately: He was holding himself back so that Marshall would fall too deep, so that Marshall couldn't get away when the real Nicolas revealed himself. Whoever that was, this meant nothing good.

Marshall had been long enough in a bad relationship, he didn't want to repeat that. On top of that with someone even worse.

But he couldn't help himself. Nicolas genuinely wanted him, despite everything. More astonishingly, Nicolas genuinely wanted him and had no reason to. He just did. If he was after money, someone like Nicolas had easier ways to get it. If he was after sex, he wasn't taking it. Even though Nicolas talked about if often enough, he barely did anything in that regard. Marshall really started to believe, that Nicolas might like him just because.

How could he not be with him? Nicolas looked good, with all the muscles and scars and the tattoo. His body was always warm. He listened. He seemed aloof but actually was very observant. He was honest. Calm. Untethered. Fearless. He even read a book to learn how to deal with Marshall better - no one had ever done that before.

>I'm not saying, there's more here. But I'm willing to find out, how far we can go. You're a man of people, you need your friends to be happy and I respect that. Let's go back inside.< Nicolas's hand stroked softly over Marshall's sides.

"You're doing it again, you're too nice."

Nicolas smirked. >Remember that, when I'm not.<


	30. Bipolar With the Switch-Up As Quick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall and Nicolas meet at the motel again for some sexy time together. They both plan on enjoying it thoroughly and maybe get a bit of kink in. Until it all goes horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: If the combination of sex and angst in the same situation isn't for you, you might want to skip this.

Should he get naked? Marshall eyed the motel bed curiously. Should he get on there and strike a sexy pose? Maybe he should prepare himself a little before Nicolas came in? His boyfriend wasn't all that careful with Marshall's ass, a little obsessed but not careful. If Marshall took some time now and prepared, they could get to the fun part sooner and it'd be easier afterward. _Finally a good idea, little gay looking boy!_

He halted in his steps to the bed. Was he now fine with getting fucked in the ass? When had that happened? Sure, it felt good, amazing even, but … He couldn't come up with a but. _Except for yours there ain't no butts to fuck with here._ He liked it, a lot, and he wanted it. At Halloween he had so much as begged for it. Was that when it happened? He must've been second-hand drunk, that was a thing.

"Don't be ridiculous", he growled to himself. He liked what he liked, no excuses. Besides, Nicolas wanted in his ass just as much as Marshall wanted him in there. A perfect match. If he could show everyone that he liked to wear a skirt, underhandedly show them but that still counted, then he could be at least truthful to himself: He wanted Nicolas to fuck him. Period.

At the memory of how that particular act felt like, a hot shiver ran through his body. Back to the real problem: How to welcome Nicolas tonight? It was their first alone time since the quickie and he wanted it to count. He needed it to count. If he waited for him naked, would that send the wrong signal? Perhaps it looked a little too desperate, too wanton, too debauched? _It would send the correct signal, needy slut._ Was that something Nicolas was into or not?

Huh. Marshall didn't actually know what Nicolas was into in bed. Sure, he wanted to chain Marshall to a bed, he had said, but for what exactly, like specifically what for? Would he use handcuffs? Or rope? How did he want to get rough, even painful? With his bare hands? Or whips? Knifes probably, with his propensity for blood and walking around in public with a real fucking sword. How about other sex toys? Like cockrings? Vibrators? Anal beads? Gags maybe, wasn't like he could hear Marshall scream anyway, so why bother. Or something else, perhaps, something he hadn't thought about yet? There was a good deal of sexual perversion written into his songs, if it wasn't anything off of that list, Nicolas was pretty deep into this. Marshall just didn't know.

Now that he thought about it, he should've brought handcuffs. That would send the right signal: Marshall naked and handcuffed to the bed, all willing and open for Nicolas to take him. Why didn't he think of that sooner? _Thinking ain't your strong suit, your pussy ain't the brightest._ Had he time to drive back home? His watch said: No, Nicolas should be here any minute. Curses.

With Marshall's luck, Nicolas would invoke his stupid no-sex rule again and they'd end up cuddling all night or some nice shit like that. That he could not have! On that impulse he started to undress. _Strip to the buff, little slut, get you naked. Slip it off, take it off, show it all. Strip to the buff, little slut, wanna see you naked. Slip it off, get me off, suck it all._ He hummed the cheery melody. Of course he appreciated how Nicolas tried for them to get to know each other and make this into a proper relationship, Marshall really valued the sentiment, but they only saw each other about once a week and usually that didn't include any sexy time. If this went on any longer, Marshall would start to crawl up the walls.

He knew himself well enough, sooner or later he'd cheat on Nicolas eventually. Marshall always fucked things up. But he wanted that to be later - best never, of course, but that didn't seem to be in the cards for him. Hadn't been for the last two decades, there was no reason to think he suddenly turned into a saint now. It wasn't like he loved Nicolas and even though he had - and still did - loved Kim, he still had cheated on her plenty. But before he fucked things up with his boyfriend, he wanted to enjoy the time with him and as much of that time as possible. Which included sex. Which would also be greatly prolonged by sex.

Now naked, he climbed on the bed, pondering what pose to strike. How would he get Nicolas all hot and bothered just from the sight of him? So much, that he'd forget his stupid no-sex rule instantly. Best guess, Marshall's ass. Nicolas's hands always ended up there somehow, even when nothing sexy was going on.

On all fours he angled himself, so that his ass was in perfect view of the door. But that wasn't hot enough. Marshall gathered the handy bottle of lube out of his jeans and also the condoms, so they wouldn't have to fumble for them later. Preparation was everything. _That's why you don't have handcuffs here._ Another time.

Marshall poured some lube on his fingers and with them now slick he reached behind himself, slid them between his cheeks and circled the tight hole.

Fuck, was a long time since he last had done this to himself.

His finger caressed the ring of muscle slowly and softly, massaging the spot. Marshall sucked his lower lip between his teeth, kneading it lightly at the sensation his finger caused. A low tingle, warm anticipation, a precursor to pleasure. His index finger pushed passed the muscle and into him. A deep hum came from his throat and his forehead fell gently on his other arm still resting on the bed covers. He took the finger out again, just to push it back in, circled once more. Then, he did it all over again. Delight pooled in his stomach like a hot liquid and tried to push into his arteries.

The door closed with a loud thud. Marshall looked over his shoulder, but didn't leave his position.

It was Nicolas standing at the door, looking at him silently. Silent because he didn't speak or because he was too surprised? His face didn't betray his emotions in this moment, it didn't know many emotions to begin with. He put his messenger bag down near the table and took his jacket off. Another look at Marshall, long and intense like he usually looked at him, the black eyes small and absorbing, shadows underneath them.

Marshall swallowed hard. "Uhm … hi?", he waved his dry hand in a meek gesture, his head barely lifted from it. He bit his lip and slowly took the finger out of his hole for good. This wasn't the reaction he had hoped for, nor the one he might've expected.

Nicolas's lips curled into an amused smirk. >Don't stop on my account.<

Marshall sat up. "I was … getting ready for you."

A nod. >You still need me or shall I leave you and your hand alone?<

For that stupid joke, Marshall just flipped him off. That was a universal gesture, regardless their language barrier. Now this situation grew awkward fast. Why was Nicolas only standing there amused? If Marshall wasn't sexy enough to incite some arousal in him, fine, so he made a fool of himself, again. But this awkwardness felt almost cruel. How could Marshall get them on track for a sexy, fun night with each other? Although, if the scene of him fingering himself didn't do the trick, what would?

Nicolas made the few steps to the bed and leaned forward, their faces coming close together and almost into kissing distance. Marshall licked his lips. >I had the same idea<, Nicolas grinned at him with dark promise.

Marshall perked up straight. "Really? Started to think you were all talk."

>Some talk is needed. These things can get pretty intense, even small stuff. It's best to negoti-<

"Don't you start with this shit again", Marshall interrupted him. "Just take what you need, I can handle it. I've been through worse than some rough sex, no need to fuss." How often did he have to say that? He wasn't a weak person and he certainly didn't want Nicolas to think that way.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows. >That's not-<

But Marshall interrupted him again: "Come on, I'm already hard and half open, you really want to talk now?" He pulled Nicolas into a kiss, a deep and stirring kiss. "I did this on purpose, you know."

Nicolas answered the kiss and he squeezed Marshall's ass, as he liked to do. Another hum purred in Marshall's throat. >Did you now?<, he asked with amusement. >First things first.< Nicolas walked the few steps back to his bag and opened it. As he turned around again, he held a collar in his hands. It was made from red leather and about the width of two fingers, adorned by a row of black rivets and a small bell chimed quietly.

Cocking his head, Marshall eyed up the collar. A strange feeling arose from the pit of his stomach, where the feeling of delight still lingered from just moments ago. "What's that for?"

With great care and gentle fingers Nicolas placed the collar around Marshall's neck. "You're mine", he said in a husky voice. The small bell chimed approvingly with each movement.

Marshall raised his hands and felt the leather and the rivets under his fingertips. The soft chime sounded calming in his ears. This felt strange. He always prided himself to be his own man, to not need nor belong to anyone. He fought for himself. But now … He could feel the soft inside of the collar rubbing the skin of his neck as he swallowed … he was owned?

Their eyes met for a long moment. He saw a distinct gleam of excitement in Nicolas's eyes. A strange sense of pride rose in Marshall, that he brought light from these eyes, that usually let nothing escape. Nicolas explained: >You said, a collar would tell people what was mine, so they don't take it away from me.<

Marshall frowned. "I meant your cat. I'm not a cat."

>You are mine.<

Marshall couldn't argue with that.

Nicolas bend down to kiss him, a kiss full with fiery potential and lustful promises and Marshall was melting into it. As their tongues and mouthes parted, Nicolas said: >Tonight, you'll have one task: Don't bite your lips.<

>What? Why?<, Marshall asked confused, unconsciously using the bits of sign language that came easy to him.

Rough fingertips stroked over Marshall's cheek. >Because I'm the only one who hurts you.< Nicolas tugged lightly at the collar around Marshall's neck and the bell chimed approvingly. >Every time you bite your lip, I'm going to slap your ass.<

"But it's a habit. I don't even realize, I'm doing it half the time." How should he control an action, that happened without his will? That was an impossible task. "I can't do that. Think of something else."

Nicolas tugged at the collar again, harder this time. >Don't talk back to me. You're mine, you will obey my word.<

"But I'll fail", Marshall objected. This night should be fun and sexy and filled with pleasure, not with him being a failure. He needed to do this right.

The hand, that had tugged at the collar, now gripped around his neck and the pressure the fingers caused was minimal, but exemplified well what was to be expected. "You're mine", he said in a low voice. "Every time you bite your lips, I'm going to slap your ass. I'm expecting you to fail quite often tonight." Nicolas grinned with his teeth showing, like a shark ready to strike. "And I'm gonna enjoy every slap on that precious ass of yours. It's gonna be red and you gonna feel my hands for days."

Marshall recognized the hint of arousal those words poured into his blood. He bit his lip.

"There it is", Nicolas said pleased and with a strong, swift motion he turned Marshall's body around. The slap.

There was a distinct tingle on his butt cheek. Marshall wanted to bite his lips again, but turned it into a lick at the last moment. This was going to be a hard night for him.

There was a pleased look in Nicolas's eyes for a short second. >You can finger yourself again.<

>What?<, Marshall asked confused, again. Nicolas was here, wouldn't they be doing things together?

>You understood me.<

>Yeah, but don't you wanna do it?<, he asked, because he certainly wanted Nicolas to do it, and more.

Nicolas pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. His expectant look lay on Marshall and he made a prompting gesture.

Now he felt self-conscious. Marshall rubbed his neck and the collar was in the way. But the feel of leather made one thing perfectly clear: This wasn't his choice to make, but Nicolas's, who he belonged to now. If Nicolas wanted to see how he fingered himself, then wasn't it Marshall's duty to obey? There was this strange feeling again. Marshall hated to be told what to do, but when he looked into Nicolas's eyes, he lost his will to resist. He wanted this man to like him and the easiest way to make people like him was sex.

So, Marshall turned around to give Nicolas the best view. He poured some more lube on his fingers and massaged the small hole again. His index pushed inside and his head fell forward onto his arm again, a sigh left his lips. He moved the finger around slowly, then he took it out again, just to push two fingers back in. The tips of both of them pressed past the ring of muscle. A hot jolt of arousal shot through his stomach. Marshall sucked in his lip between his teeth, the moan died in his throat. Immediately when he realized his mistake, he opened his lips again and a sigh was audible. But it was too late. "You did it again", he heard Nicolas say close behind him. Then another slap on his ass, this time the tingling was more heated and held longer.

And for a while, those were the only actions to happen in the dimly lit motel room. Marshall went slow, always pulling his fingers out again, pressing them in just so he broke through and felt his muscle pucker around them, focused on the sensation of something going into him. Sometimes he sighed or moaned, sometimes he bit his lips and the slaps on his ass following grew into a sweet, prickling pain that lingered on. Marshall's dick twitched curiously at all of this, hard at the sensations their hands caused at his ass. The gentle pressing and caressing of his hole was rather tantalizing, but the slaps left a subliminal pain and were such a stark contrast it heightened the craving he felt here. A craving, he knew, could be met with a great deal of pleasure.

Marshall wanted it, all of it.

After a while he looked over his shoulder to Nicolas, who's eyes were fixated on him, on his ass. Good. Marshall brought his other hand up to his ass and gripped the cheeks tight, digging his nails into the flesh, which burned from Nicolas hitting it over and over. He stretched them apart, showing his hole to his boyfriend's unwavering gaze. He could feel it pucker with an appetite for so much more than his own fingers.

There again was amusement coloring Nicolas's smirk. >You're really needy tonight.<

Was the amusement also approval? Marshall took the leap. "I'm always needy. A bad habit of mine." Over his shoulder he shot his boyfriend a sexy smirk back.

Nicolas grabbed Marshall's ass and yanked him backwards, their bodies connecting, skin against cloth. A soft bite into his neck. "Like a slut with a loose pussy?", directly in his ear.

An electric shiver ran down Marshall's spine and unconsciously he closed his eyes. He recognized the quote and out of Nicolas's mouth it sounded wrong in the right kind of way. "Yeah", his voice quivered. He rubbed his ass against Nicolas, feeling the rough material of the jeans against his sore, prickling skin. A sigh, stopped by him sucking his lip between his teeth.

Another slap on his ass.

Marshall moaned roughly. He turned around, so he could face his boyfriend and more importantly, so he could get these clothes off. They were in the way. Slick fingers moved erratically as he tried to open the belt and the pants or, as that didn't work out quite right, just to raise the t-shirt. He needed to feel the other's skin.

Nicolas grabbed his wrists with one hand and held them tight, his other hand pulled the belt from his pants and with precise movements he tied Marshall's wrists together and behind his back. Seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Marshall assumed, his boyfriend actually did and not just out of pleasure. He bit his lips again at this thought, of how Nicolas liked pain and blood so much he made it his work and still wanted it for sex, too - that he couldn't get enough of it.

Another slap on his ass. The skin glowed red with pain.

>To take, one first has to give<, Nicolas reprimanded. "Be a good slut and open wide for me", he said out loud and Marshall wondered for a second, why he even bothered speaking? Then Nicolas's hand gripped his jaw tight and forced it open.

A slurred sound came from Marshall's throat, a mixture of surprise and discomfort. Through his mind flashed a picture from the last time someone had held him like this and it wasn't all arousal that made his heart beat fast.

With his hold firm, Nicolas pulled Marshall off the bed and made him kneel on the floor of the motel room. He might've been slender, but Marshall still had muscles and they still weighed something, but the strength in Nicolas's hand and the rough grip felt like his jaw would be ripped from his skull, if he didn't move accordingly. So he did.

His eyes clung to Nicolas's, searching for a sign the man wouldn't actually do that, at least not to him. But the eyes looked down on him and Marshall was sure, the man could see exactly what he was, every little dirty part of his being. That there were only dirty parts and Marshall needed to proof he was worth the other's time. The urge to kiss Nicolas came over him hard, but he couldn't reach out. He wanted to wrap his arms around the broad shoulders. He wanted to be hold tight, but he couldn't reach out. He pulled at the belt around his wrists, of course it didn't give way. He blinked away tears of lust and frustration … and of the pain that all of this wasn't his. He was a toy that people enjoyed and Nicolas was no exception. Till the man would be bored of him or till Marshall inevitably would become too much to bear. All needy sluts ended like this.

Then he heard the sound of Nicolas's zipper opening up and the man pushed his pants down enough. The cock was hard and ripe for attention from the looks of it. "Open your mouth, my adorable slut." The hand still held Marshall's jaw and pulled him toward Nicolas, toward his erection. There was already pre-cum on it. In the back of Marshall's mind, he heard the memory of Nicolas's voice: _Relax, you think too much._ Now he understood and he took a deep breath. The bell chimed laudingly. A slut didn't think, so why should he? He was so tired of thinking anyway. He rolled his shoulders to relax them. Marshall stuck his tongue out as a welcome. He put a kiss on the head, because Nicolas's lips were out of reach. The hand from his jaw let go and moved on to stroke through his hair, perhaps better: to pet his head softly.

This gave Marshall his freedom of movement back and he licked along the sides and spread the pre-cum with his tongue. Just enough to make sure it would slide well, then he took it into his mouth. Hard and hot and pulsing. Marshall moaned around the flesh.

The hand, that petted through his hair, grabbed tight once more and guided his head back and forth, slowly first but eventually the pace increased. Marshall relaxed his jaws and his shoulders, breathing became hard and he felt his gag reflex wanting to jump in as Nicolas's dick thrust deep into his throat. But that was okay, then he was just a mouth that needed to be filled, sometimes with cruel words and sometimes with a relentless dick. He relied upon the hand to know what Nicolas wanted. Every new thrust into his mouth knocked more and more thoughts off his mind, which he was thankful for, he thought too much.

Marshall closed his eyes and felt a tear run down his face.

Nicolas's thumb caressed the trail that the tear left behind.

At last, the hand pulled his head away and the hard dick left his mouth. Did he do something wrong? Marshall stuck his tongue out again, eager to do better and he was trying to get back into his position, but the hand held tight. His eyes searched for Nicolas's, who looked down on him and his gaze felt almost tender. "My adorable slut", he said once more and came. The cum hit Marshall's face and dripped down onto his chest.

Gasping lightly, Nicolas kneeled down in front him. "You gave good", he said in a husky voice and a thumb caressed Marshall's roughed lips, touched them gently and warm. Nicolas kissed him feverishly and Marshall was completely absorbed by it. "Now, do you want to be taken?"

He nodded and croaked: "Yeah."

A wet finger circled Marshall's hole, pressed against the tight muscle, teased him. The finger went inside him and moved deep, stroked over his insides and struck right. Marshall arched his back and moaned lustful.

Then the finger was gone again and Marshall whimpered.

Nicolas tugged at the collar and pulled him onto his feet that way, which didn't stand strong. But they didn't have to, a second later Marshall was on the bed again.

"On your knees, my adorable slut." Nicolas went to his bag.

A deep breath, Marshall closed his eyes and kneeled on the soft covers. With a second to himself, he felt his body hurt. His throat hurt, the jaw strained from the harsh fucking and pain throbbed and burned his ass cheeks, sore from every strike of Nicolas's hands. So were his legs from kneeling too long on the floor. The muscles of his hole still puckered around nothing and missed the sensation of being parted open. But without anything else to be more important, his aching, leaking erection crawled to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to touch himself, but was sharply reminded of the belt around his wrists tying his hands behind his back. Sitting on his knees, there was no way of getting friction or just attention to his hard dick, not talk about release.

The point of a finger between his shoulder blades. Marshall opened his eyes again, looking up behind him but unable to. The finger pressed deep into its spot, making it impossible to turn around. The finger pressed more, pushed down and Marshall had to give. He leaned forward a few inches. The finger pushed down more and Marshall had to give. He leaned forward even more, almost bowing down and then gravity pulled. The muscles of his upper body worked to prevent him from falling, until his head rested on the covers. The leather collar slipped up his neck a little, the bell chimed avidly.

"Get your ass high", Nicolas demanded.

Marshall moved his body accordingly, forehead still resting on the covers and his ass high in the air.

The finger moved down from its spot between his shoulder blades, stroking the side of his spine and rubbing the vertebrae intensely. Another finger, wet and slick, moved between his cheeks, finding the hole again that puckered expectantly. Finally! A chuckle. "Such a needy slut, aren't you."

Marshall bit his lip.

A slap on his cheeks. It burned harsh.

The finger slid easily passed the ring and deep inside him, stroking again that point and Marshall's body arched again. The release was instead, but not enough. His ass presented itself eagerly in this position, obviously wanting more. The lustful moan was swallowed by the covers.

Oh yes, he was a needy slut.

The hand on his back found its way down as well and stretched his cheeks apart. He could feel the small strain on his hole, a different kind of sensation. A bare one. Good.

Marshall groaned with pain and pleasure as the finger was replaced by a bigger toy. It felt a lot bigger, but that might just be his hole being too tight. It wasn't used up yet and for a moment, the thought of a part of his body, a part of him not being worn out and spent, scared him. It meant, there was still something in him that was unbroken, intact, vulnerable. That was impossible.

"Be a good slut and take it all in", Nicolas's dark voice said and the sound of vowels stretched a little too much relaxed Marshall.

He swallowed hard and felt leather caressing his neck. What was being intact worth anyway? Nicolas could use all parts of him, that's what Marshall was here for.

The toy moved back and forth, pushed and shoved into him and it was all he could feel. His hips met each thrust and a moan left his throat each time. Loud and distorted and sensual. The vibration came from deep inside of him, radiating through his body in hot waves, his skin barely containing it. The toy filled him up, having the shape of the piece which was missing from him but hadn't been searched for. A new pulse beat in his chest, a lustful craving that needed a way out.

Marshall pulled at the belt around his wrists, but it didn't budge. There was one way for lust to leave his body, but he was barred from it. He couldn't move his hands and even though his hips moved, his aching erection didn't move into anything. His dick was needing, but it wasn't needed. He panted and moaned, the sound of his own voice seemed distant and foreign. A primal cry of desire and voracity and bliss. His body was trembling and stretched to meet the pressure inside of him.

Then the toy stopped. All the way in, but not vibrating and not thrusting.

A whimper came begging from Marshall. Almost.

A hand on his head stroked through the shortly cropped hair. "You're beautiful."

There wasn't breath left to speak. He swallowed hard, the leather of the collar rubbed against the skin of his neck. The covers beneath his face were damp from sweat and spit and cum and tears. "Want … more …", he tried to look up and see Nicolas, but the angle was all wrong. "Give me … more …"

But Nicolas didn't. Strong he gripped Marshall's hips and threw him over.

Marshall landed on his back, his tied up hands buried underneath his body, pressed into the covers. The wet spot of his first release was cool against his skin. A whining, ruttish moan left him. His back arched again and he moved his hips upward, his legs wrapped themselves around Nicolas.

But Nicolas swatted them away. His gaze lingered on the body hungrily, unmistakably enjoying the sight Marshall presented him with.

He pulled at the belt again, which still didn't give way. This was not enough. He needed more. Another whimper. Within a moment, Nicolas’s lips were on his, kissed him frantically and Marshall answered in kind. Their lips moved with each other, their tongues coiled around each other, desperate to be as close as possible and never close enough.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun. Nicolas sat back up again and took his phone out of his pants. "My needy, adorable slut", he mumbled low, slurring his words almost unrecognizable, but his deep voice vibrated within Marshall nonetheless. Then he took pictures of the man writhing beneath him, to keep record of what he had done to him - a wrecked mess, Marshall was sure, and it still wasn't enough. Again this mean grin, maybe a hint of admiration and Nicolas asked: "You wanna see?" Did it matter, what Marshall wanted? The phone was held up to his face without waiting for an answer and the image he saw knocked air out of his lungs.

Over the years Marshall had seen a lot of pictures of himself, another occupational hazard, some of them taken by professionals, some of them taken by paparazzis and fans. Usually he just looked like a regular guy, at least to his eyes he did. Sometimes the picture was rather silly, mostly on purpose by him; sometimes he looked concentrated or amused or high or annoyed - a human, in short; sometimes he didn't like the image, especially those documenting his excess weight he hated violently. But a picture of himself had never quite looked this … utterly wrong in how truthful it was.

His head bend to the side, neck stretched and the red collar clung to him, eyes closed. Though his mouth was open and the tip of his tongue stuck out. The traces of their bodily fluids were unmistakable. With lips red and raw his face was a blatant invitation. Arms trapped underneath his body, no defense whatsoever. His torso was covered in sweat, skin light, muscles defined, but with only a hint of his tattoos this seemed to be barely him. Few splashes of his own cum dotted the tattoo around his naval. Erection strong and begging, but also not the center of attention and therefore unimportant. Legs sprawled wide open in an obscene invitation and begged for anyone to fill the space out. The red colored vibrator was oddly out of place, only a placeholder for a real dick that needed to be there.

His insides collapsed into themselves and into a tight ball of dread and disgust. He didn't want Nicolas to see this. Ever. He would learn this eventually, but it was too early. Marshall didn't want them to end already, they've barely been together. Couldn't he enjoy their illusion just a bit longer?

He wriggled his body away from Nicolas. Once more he pulled at the belt around his wrists, twisting his hands to get them free and failed. An old instinct came back to the surface, to be invisible, so he made himself small while he desperately tried to free his hands. His blood turned cold with fear. How had he lost control this completely? In anger, he kicked out against the headboard.

"Marshall?", Nicolas asked baffled. "Hey, it's alright", he reached out but got kicked next. "It's alright, Marshall, just a second." He fended off another kick and unfastened the belt from the wrists. It took him longer than it needed to, because Marshall was still fighting against them. When the hands were finally free, he lashed out more and punched Nicolas in the side, but not with much strength. "Hey, it's alright." Nicolas pulled the blanket up and wrapped it around him.

"Fuck", Marshall cursed in a hoarse growl. The blanket did nothing against the icy feeling in his limbs. He crawled to the edge of the bed and stood up, he needed to get out of here. But his legs trembled and gave way under him. His body hit the floor. Angry with himself, he threw the sex toy across the room. Why did he always fuck things up? "Fuck."

"It's alright. Lie down and take a deep breath or two", Nicolas said in an even tone and helped Marshall onto the bed again. Not that Marshall wanted that and slapped Nicolas's hands away, but he helped him up anyway.

Marshall shook his head. Nothing was alright. He was not alright and now Nicolas knew. He would leave, like everyone left. _Don't be such a drama queen, this was awesome! Until you had to ruin it again, fag._ "Go away!"

"It's alright, Marshall. You hear me? It's alright", Nicolas kept saying and gently caressed the shortly cropped hair, while Marshall curled up into the blanket on the bed.

Everything was wrong. He had failed, Nicolas just as much as himself. Never let your guard down, when would he learn? _It was glorious! You really let yourself go, slut, respect. Can I have seconds? _"Leave me alone!"

"Just concentrate on your breathing. You're here and it's alright, Marshall, it's alright", Nicolas went on saying and went on stroking his head.

He was repulsive. Who could like something like him? In the end, Marshall would die alone. A fate, he had always known about, but still tried to fight against. _Come on, he loved it so much he wants your needy ass on his fucking phone. That ain't nothing. It's dirty and depraved and dissolute, that’s a lot of something. _"Get away from me!"

"I'm here", Nicolas insisted, his voice close and strong.

Marshall looked at him. Why was he still here?

Nicolas still petted his head. "I'm here, Marshall. Whatever you're feeling right now, I'm going to be here."

"No, you won't", he said hoarse and shook his head. How could Nicolas stay with him? With someone this tasteless. With someone this out of control. With someone this selfish. _With someone this spirited._

The touch lingered on. "What happened?"

Marshall shook his head again. Nicolas couldn't know - shouldn't know. _He just saw you, fag, the man is deaf, not blind. And he ain't dumb, either._ He would not make him leave faster, even he wasn't that much of an idiot. He sighed and rolled onto his back, a painful groan. The bed pressed against his ass and reignited the burn. This was absolutely not how he planned tonight to go. _It went exactly as you planned tonight to go: hot and sexy and you got your holes stuffed, little gay looking boy._ He always fucked things up and strangely enough, the older he got the faster that happened. Tonight should've been enjoyable, which sex with Nicolas actually was. _Ho boy! You enjoyed the hell out of it - but still didn't get his dick in your ass. You're really bad at this, homo._ But that was no excuse to get carried away and show himself like this. One more sigh, the burn a throb in the back of his mind. Being with a man, trying to be gay and to be more himself in a way he actually was, of course that had to drag this side out of him even more. After all, being yourself was losing control. _It's not losing control, bitch, it's called being alive!_ He should've seen this coming, shouldn't he?

Silence grew between them.

_Get your ass back on his dick, slut, that's what you're here for: getting fucked raw and covered in cum! The covered in cum part you completed successfully and with high honors. Your face looks pretty like this, all smeared and dirty with cum and spit. Now, get your ass full with cum, too. You'll love that, bitch!_

An uncomfortable silence while Marshall looked up. The ceiling had been white once, but judging from the yellow tint, that had been a long time ago. Didn't mean the ceiling wasn't judging. All of them were, everywhere. Motel room ceilings were some of the worst, staring back with this yellow, faded tint that said: I know depravity when I see it.

Marshall still felt the belt on his wrists and the pain of every slap on his ass. Mostly though, the feeling of being too open and hollow inside, where the toy had conjured all those sensations before. _You could probably be even more open, if you at fucking last get his fucking dick inside you fucking you to pieces._ Sensations he wanted so much and that should be okay, said his therapist, but he felt wrong. He wanted to hide.

The warm hand petted his head, caressing over the shortly cropped hair. Nicolas's presence made it better and worse at the same time. Not being alone felt nice, like this didn't need to be bad. But he was and Nicolas had seen it. "This wasn't what you want", he said quietly. His voice thin and hoarse, also he didn't want to talk. _You always want to talk, bitch. Use your mouth for something better, you could suck him some more. Your boo seems to like you down on your knees. Where you belong, slut._ But better to talk than to think. Because if he thought now, he'd only come up with words meant to hurt himself. _You mean me, homo? I'm just telling you how it is._ He didn't want that no more, but he couldn't stop.

A kiss on his shoulder.

Marshall rolled his head to the side to look at Nicolas. "You're still holding back." It made him feel even more weak. More wrong. He wasn't good enough for Nicolas to be himself, to take what he wanted, to be worth his time. Marshall knew, he wasn't, but he had fallen for the illusion Nicolas had created: They could be together. Whatever Marshall did from here, all would end up in flames. It always did.

>So are you.<

Of course he was! The other was comfortable with who he was, all twisted and weird and proud, that's why he wouldn't understand why Marshall couldn't be. Until he became too much and it would become obvious even to Nicolas, why Marshall shouldn't be. "I need to."

Another kiss on his shoulder. >You're mine. And I want all of you.< The other hand nudged the bell on the collar. The leather still caressing Marshall's neck and the little cling was still calming.

That sounded too good to be true. "I fuck things up. I always do." _Ample reason to squeeze all the cum out of him now, who knows when you'll get a chance like this again?_ Even if Nicolas could somehow tolerate what he saw tonight, in the end, Marshall couldn't be only for him and as with everyone else, Marshall would be left behind. He ran a hand over his face, smearing the proof of his depravity more. "I couldn't even do this right. And this should've been the easy part."

A questioning look in Nicolas's eyes.

"The sex", he explained halfheartedly. Still the curious gaze from the other. "It's the easy part, it's supposed to be anyway. And I fuck even that up with you."

A kiss to his lips. >Why is that so important to you?<

"It ain't to you?", Marshall asked surprised, unbelieving.

>I like sex, it has many merits. But it's just a thing to do. If something goes wrong, it doesn't matter. Maybe next time'll be better.< Nicolas shrugged. >But for your information, I got what I wanted tonight.<

Marshall rolled onto his side to better look at his boyfriend, his body slow to move. "How? You didn't really do anything and nothing as rough as you make it out to be. You just played with my ass for forever and took a godawful picture. Basically."

Nicolas smirked. >Exactly. And you loved it.< That absolutely made no sense to Marshall. How was that good? >The slut-thing surprised me, though.<

"Oh fuck, don't", he mumbled and buried his head in the pillow. That should've never left his mind. Why had he told Nicolas about this in the first place? _Cause you love his voice, little gay looking boy. You love it, when he says slut. I might get jealous about that. Ain't I abusing you enough? Slut, you can't get your ass full enough._ Although, after how he'd lost control tonight, Nicolas would've probably figured this out on his own soon enough. And now the man was using it against him, of course he was. Well, at least it wouldn't be much of a surprise once they were breaking up, maybe that would save Marshall's life. _Nope!_ One could hope.

Nicolas's hand was still petting his head, another kiss to his shoulder.

He looked up again, there was one important question to ask. "Why're you so nice to me?" _Wow, that's actually a good question. He ain't getting much out of your needy ass so far, what a pity. _Even though this was going all wrong. "Why're you going through all the trouble with me?" Nicolas didn't get from him what he wanted, but he put so much effort and energy into their little thing. Clearly, whatever Nicolas wanted, he could get with someone else easier and better, but regardless he didn't go away. Which made Marshall dread the day, when Nicolas would finally have enough of him and leave for good. A day, that was closer than he wished.

Nicolas looked at him for a while. >I don't think you're in a good place right now for the answer.< _Ha! You ain't never in a good place, either you wallow in self-pity or self-denial. Homo, just fuck your lies, you're gay and a he-bitch. Be proud of that!_

That sounded ominous. Marshall sat up slowly and a deep sound of ache came from him. "Just say it. Can't be worse than everything else you say." Or how he had shown himself tonight.

Nicolas sat up as well. >I told you already, I want you to be mine. I want you to break underneath me. I like to destroy things and … You're stunning and beautiful, I want you to be in pain - I want pain to be you … You're full with emotions, with life and I want to break away every delicate piece of you and see it all, raw and unhinged. But before I can break you, I need to mend you first. I need to heal you up, so it's only me who hurts you, not anyone else.<

Marshall shifted away a few inches. "You're insane."

A shrug, then a nod. >Probably.<

"I should go." He should be as far away from this guy as he could possibly get. He should've gone, when Nicolas had told the story of his ex-girlfriend. That's how Marshall would end up: beaten, bloody and dead.

Nicolas said in this dark, lovely voice of his: "I want to see you smile."


	31. I Don't Want to Be Alone in the Darkness, Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their sexy night out, Marshall has trouble following his routines. He's still shocked by his loss of control the night earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, Everyone!

The alarm clock was ringing and Marshall groaned into his pillow. He reached out with a heavy arm, but didn't find the device. He pulled the pillow from under his head and threw it onto the nightstand. The alarm clock was still ringing, but muffled now. He groaned once more and struggled to the edge of his bed. Just about every part of his body complained vehemently as he sat up and even worse stood up. In the dark gray of a rainy day he walked to the adjoined bathroom, his feet barely lifting up from the floor. As he turned on the light there, all the curse he could muster was "Ugh!" and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for them to adjust. Half blind but knowing the way, he turned the shower on and let the cold water hit his body. He gasped out, muscles contracting and his body shivering awake. Slowly the water warmed up and he wiped some of it from his eyes. As he poured body wash on his hands, he noticed the stark red marks and thin scabby lines on his wrists.

Memories from the night before hit him hard. The belt, the collar, the toy - the picture. A kaleidoscope of feelings welled up inside him from pleasure to pain, from desire to disgust, from satisfaction to shame. The bottle fell out of his hands and only his reflexes moved his feet out of the way in time.

He cursed under his breath about the memory of the picture, the evidence of him losing control so fully. There was one thing to be said about having sex with people you weren't attracted to: You didn't lose yourself in the moment. Only because he had started to feel comfortable with Nicolas - and with himself oddly enough, but that exactly was his undoing now. Marshall leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, water flowing over him, but it couldn't wash away his actions, much less his being. A person without restraints but with … cravings, some of which he had successfully channelled into a career, but it wasn't enough. It never was enough.

The tears he hadn't allowed to manifest the night before now mixed with the water from the shower. Not because he deserved to cry, but because he couldn't fight against it any longer. He was weak. He was despicable. He was wrong deep inside of him. Slowly Marshall slid down the wall and came down on his knees, a sob escaped him, a fist meekly hit against the wall. He wanted too much. He wanted too bad. He wanted the wrong things in the wrong way. Another sob.

He didn't want to hurt anybody.

But she had been hurt by everything he wanted. The same would happen with Nicolas, even worse, with him it seemed possible but it wasn't. Starving was worse, when you had something to eat.

A nameless hook-up didn't ask questions. There wasn't time to be thorough or to go deep, only enough to scratch the itch. But Nicolas asked questions and Nicolas went deep with his answers. The man didn't want to scratch an itch, he wanted to fulfill a desire.

But Marshall's couldn't be fulfilled. It shouldn't exist. How broken was a person, who thrived on being consumed? That needed to be fixed, not satisfied. To serve himself to millions with his music should be enough, but it never was enough.

Inevitably he became too much.

A low groan, as he stood up again. He shut the water off and on weak legs he walked back to his bed. Wet, hurting and desolate he climbed back under the covers.

But he couldn't allow himself to fall, he had too much to lose. So he grabbed for his phone and realized, it hadn't been his alarm that had rung earlier. There was a message, from Nicolas of all people. It read: morning ice princess, had a dream of you last night, hot and sexy and admittedly a little corny

This man sometimes texted strange things. _Agree. Sounds like he can't get enough of your needy ass, little gay looking boy. Maybe at least once you're in luck and that kinky bastard'll give it to you good._ Marshall replied: good for you, I'm in a nightmare Nicolas wasn't the person he wanted to speak to, but he also didn't know who else he could call. This wasn't really something you talked with your friends about. _Why not? I'm sure they'll be happy to lend a hand, well, dick._ He wouldn't even know where to start, just that he shouldn't be in his head right now.

The answer came in immediately: want me to come over?

Marshall wanted to say yes. The thought brought back more memories from last night, but better ones: Nicolas's fingers in his hair, the steady voice and the obvious concern for Marshall's well-being. Something he didn't deserve, but Nicolas had given him anyway. Even after Marshall had threatened to leave, the man had been there, hugged him, even had brought a little treat for him. Dark chocolate didn't change the world, but it sweetened the soul. Marshall’s favorite even and he had no idea how Nicolas knew. _You're such a sentimental bitch, you make me sick._ The only thing he did know was, that he needed that.

Nevertheless he wrote: no, the girls be up any minute for school. and I need to go to the studio

Nicolas replied: it's sunday, there's no school

It was? Marshall looked the date up on his phone, yep, it was. _Wow, he literally fucked your brains out? Awesome! And he didn't even fuck all the way, yet. Nice going, slut. _That made the suggestion worse. He sent: you can't come when my daughters are here!

Nicolas replied: want to meet somewhere else? not being alone is often helpful with this

With this? Marshall frowned at the words. Of course they were true, he knew that, but what did Nicolas think was going on here? The man didn't know Marshall or what mental pitfalls he navigated through, sometimes with success, often without. So he asked: what you mean?

Nicolas replied: I told you, these things get intense sometimes and that can linger on. last night was quite intense by the looks of it, so here's the aftereffect

Marshall huffed at his phone and answered: I ain't weak! I can handle that little bit of sex, asshole. I've done worse, don't treat me like a kid _Well, you're a bit new to this gay shit, bitch, getting your ass loose'll take some time. And your throat's out of practice taking dick. _Rough he wiped the tears from his face. Nicolas didn't like weak people, so Marshall shouldn't show this side of him. He didn't like weak people, either.

Nicolas replied: it's a normal response. there's no weakness in it, only humanness. and before you say anything, I'm nice to you, because I care about you. and because I care about you, I don't want you to be alone right now. can you call a friend over? somebody who you trust, who can hold you?

Marshall huffed again: I don't need anybody to hold me _Come on, you'd love to cry at some strong, muscular shoulder right now. I know you do, little gay looking boy._

Then the display changed completely, a video call came in. Out of reflex he pushed the button to decline. As if he could show his face to Nicolas right now, all whiny and tearful. _Crybaby. _Or that he was still laying in bed, even though it was 11:33 am and he so should be up doing stuff. Marshall didn't quite remember what stuff he should be doing, but there was always stuff to do.

Another request for a video call from Nicolas. Marshall got the suspicion the man would probably keep calling, until he answered. Nicolas was a rather insistent person at times. So he wiped over his face once more and sat up with a groan, halfway there he abandoned this undertaking and lay down again. Sitting was not an option today.

He pushed the button to accept the call. "What?", he asked with a frown. Better to feign annoyance, maybe Nicolas would stop his worrying. It was a nice sentiment, but Marshall didn't know how to respond to it. Not with how he really felt, that was clear. _Do you even know, how you really feel?_

Nicolas was silent for a moment, then he said out loud: "I'm sorry I brought this on to you."

There was a warm feeling in his ears, hearing the breathy voice and vowels stretched just ever slightly too much. He savored the sounds for a moment, before the words sank into his brain. "You didn't do anything, no reason to feel sorry."

Nicolas shook his head. "I grew impatient. You have a lot of shit buried and I know", he raised a hand to hold off Marshall's objection, "you can deal with that on your own. I know. But that doesn't mean I can go and hurl that to the surface. And I can't even help you with whatever shit last night dragged up. I can only assure you, you ain't weak. On the contrary, you are a very strong-willed person. Something I really like about you. It's your strength that makes me want to break you, you know. If you were weak, that wouldn't be any fun, there wouldn't be anything to break, right. But you are strong, that's what drags people in to you, your strong will and your fighting spirit. That you feel bad now doesn't erase that. It's precisely what makes you so strong. One can only be strong, if there's something to overcome. And I know, whatever shit's in your head right now, you're stronger than that. I'll be here as long as you need me to."

Listening to these words, he rubbed over his eyes again. "Is that from your stupid book?", he asked as a deflection. If these words were only true …

Nicolas smiled mildly.

… but even if those words were lies, it felt good to hear them. Sometimes an illusion was all you had left to cling to.

"Is there something else you feel bad about?", Nicolas asked.

Now it was Marshall who smirked crooked. "You sound like my therapist."

Nicolas shrugged. "If I was, I probably could help you better, but … I don't usually comfort people. I'd like to help you, but all I can do right now is talk with you. Which seems inadequate." Another shrug and Marshall understood what he meant. Looking at the other man so tiny on the display of his phone, it just wasn't right. "Don't forget to eat right, though. Who knows, maybe cooking distracts you a bit. I hear, that helps."

Marshall frowned. "That came out of nowhere."

Nicolas shrugged. "As much as these things feel emotional, they're also physical. That's why it's not an uncommon response. You're not the only person who falls after a high like that. And considering how last night ended, I'm really not all that surprised. Eating something and getting your body back in balance, helps. So does accomplishing some minor tasks, you know, settle back into everyday life."

That sounded fairly technical. Marshall frowned more. "I thought you were sorry? Don't act like you're my doctor or some shit."

"That's not", Nicolas began and interrupted himself, an eye-roll followed. "You know, if you'd be a little more willing to talk about these kinds of things, we might've been able to avoid all of this. I reiterate, I like to do kinky stuff and I have so for a while. One tends to pick up a thing or two after some time, like for example that sometimes the hours and days after can be quite dark, especially for people in your position. Usually, there would be measures in place to ensure things go as smoothly as possible. But for that, communication is key."

Marshall snorted. "You ain't communicative, don't kid yourself."

Nicolas looked at him unamused and unimpressed by this dismissive reaction. "I know, thanks for noticing", he replied sarcastically. "And you're even worse than me. You know, you could've told me that you don't like pictures of yourself. Then, I wouldn't have taken one, much less shown it to you." Nicolas cocked his head knowingly. _That would be a great loss, fag, that picture is glorious!_

Marshall pulled the blanket up some more. "I ain't really in a position to care about pictures of me, you know, being famous and all. People take them all the time, I kinda gotten used to it. There's always a camera somewhere, now more than ever with them being stuffed into every cell phone. Besides, it's not like I dislike photos of me in general, professional or private. It's not vain to want some reminders of your life and pictures help with that, of course I have some of me. That's fine."

Nicolas looked at him skeptical. "That's a winded way of saying, you don't like my picture specifically. Which, by the way, was pretty obvious."

"I never heard you speak so much in one sitting", Marshall deflected. That wasn't something he wanted to talk about or for someone else to know. He didn't want it to be in the first place. _Which is exactly your problem, bitch._

"Told you, 's all I can do right now. I know you like my voice", he shrugged again. "Don't get used to it."

Marshall blinked unbelieving. "How d'you know that?"

"Was that supposed to be a secret?" Nicolas waved the unspoken objection aside. "So, why was my picture so wrong?"

Marshall swallowed hard. This wasn't something to talk about, but if he thought about it … He would just fall back deeper. He barely clung on to their conversation, but focused intensely on it. Distraction was helpful, dwelling on how wrong he was, was only harmful. "Can we talk about something else?", he asked instead.

Nicolas looked at him silently for a long moment. "Sure. I can tell you about the book I'm reading at the moment? It's about a dullahan working as an underworld courier and an internet-based gang called the Dollars and the chaos that unfolds around the most dangerous people in Tokyo. It's pretty weird."

Marshall smiled thinly and nodded briefly. "Sounds perfect."

"Okay", the other nodded in agreement. "The story starts with a teenage girl banging at some dudes door …", Nicolas began re-telling the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book, Nicolas is referring to, is called "Durarara!!" and it's awesome.


	32. Suck My Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall is still down from the weekend, but it's Monday so he finds his way to the studio. Ryan tries to cheer him up. Something unexpected happens. Bananas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dark, unhealthy thought patterns and questionable behavior in general. I don't know how to tag this, but I very much feel this is a chapter one should read with caution.
> 
> Also: Please read the Note at the end of the chapter. It's important.

The next morning was only barely better, but he managed to get out of his bed and to put some clothes on. For situations like these, he always kept some comfy, cozy, baggy clothes around, if he sank away in them, perfect. _Still trying to be invisible, little gay looking boy? Yeah tough luck, that ship sailed about a decade ago._ After he forced some breakfast down his throat, he felt slightly more equipped to handle the day to come. He knew, just getting out of bed wasn't enough, he needed to get out of his house, needed to see his friends. Being so absorbed into his own mind and its downward spiral, that would only get worse if he stayed here all alone. Calling someone on the phone was only marginally helping. _I know what helps, a good, thorough fucking. There's too much space inside you empty, bitch._ Also, he didn't want to put Nicolas through another hours long call. It must've been awful for him to speak so much yesterday, Marshall didn't want to be a burden on him. This was his shit, not Nicolas's. Besides, that night made him doubt their relationship was a good idea after all. For so many reasons.

Marshall took a deep breath and focused his eyes on the traffic Big Eight was driving them through. This was not the time to think about that and he was in no condition to make any decisions at the moment. He knew that. _I'm always surprised when you show self-awareness. Makes your denial even worse, fag._ Only thing he could do and needed to do right now was to write and spend some time with his friends. Which already sounded like a too taxing plan. He wanted to crawl back into his bed, if he was honest. But he knew from the past, this would help, however impossible it seemed, this would actually help him. It needed to help.

Didn't mean it was easy. Holding his focus onto the outside world was hard and he didn't want to speak to anybody as they arrived at the studio. Not even a greeting left his mouth as he walked in. He gave the row of arcade games in the foyer a long look - no, he wasn't in the mood for a game. So he walked past them, walked way into the back of the building and into a small room to lounge in. He was here, after all, that was enough for now.

Lazily he pushed forward through some of the beats, that were always stuck in his player. Nothing sounded appealing, but how could they? As if somebody cared to waste their quality beats on him … He took a deep breath. _Not true_, he told himself, _you made it, dumbass, you're the artist of a whole fucking decade_. That meant something. Probably.

"Hey, you came. I thought you were sick?" Ryan entered the room with his usual shiny personality. At least to Marshall right now, he seemed shiny and gleeful. His friend stopped in the motion of sitting down, halfway down but still ass hanging in the air above the couch cushion. "What happened to you?", he asked surprised and concerned. "You look like your dog just died."

Marshall raised an eyebrow to that comparison. "Not very original. Don't I deserve some more brainpower?" More accurately, he felt worse than if their dog had just died.

An eye roll. "You look like shit. That original enough for you?", Ryan responded. Finally sitting down, he leaned over and, like usual, eyed Marshall up closely and piercingly. With a low voice he asked: "Did you … get attacked again?"

"No", Marshall snorted abrasively, in the same instant he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie more securely over his wrists and just all of his hands for good measure. But that couldn't hide the spots on his jaw. They were only faint, almost imperceptible under the right light. _Come on, slut, wear your trophies with pride. Next time, ask him to grab harder and show off what you want them all to do to you._ But Ryan made sure to perceive everything about him, evidently. "No, I wasn't", he repeated.

Ryan made a low, disbelieving sound. "You really need to be more careful with your … conquests, the world is full with crazy people. Besides, I thought you liked Nicolas. You should try this harder, he seems to at least. I mean, a month or so is pretty short even for you. Maybe take this a little more serious?"

"I wasn't cheating", he explained with more force in his voice this time. "Don't just imply stuff like that willy-nilly. There is nobody else, aight, just him. And I don't wanna talk about it. Can we just spit some bars?"

Ryan furrowed his brow with concern and anger. "He did this to you? Dude! How did that happen? I hope you clocked him back good, that he deserves."

Marshall questioned his decision to come here. This was not helping. He did not want to think about their night at the motel. Not because of the physical marks it had left behind, but because it would inevitably bring up the end of the night, the photo … He shifted in his seat, a low sigh of pain. "Let's just have fun with some music, aight?" He pushed the forward button on his player again, still not appealing.

"Don't let this become a habit again, aight", Ryan said warm. _Don't listen to this moron. Best thing to do right now, text your boo and finish it._

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. More tears wouldn't solve anything. "Just stop talking, man."

"I'm worried about you, that's all."

Marshall snorted dismissively. "Don't overwork yourself. Ain't like he did anything wrong." This was his own fault, he _was_ wrong, Nicolas only tried to clean up the mess - to then possibly turn him into an even worse mess.

"How you mean?", Ryan asked, caution in his voice. "Like, you want this?", he gestured toward all of Marshall, who was a rather sorry sight at the moment.

Marshall sighed deeply. Couldn't his friend just back off this once? "It's called a kink, dumbass." Why did he have to talk about this now, here, with him? _You came here looking like this, you knew he'd make you talk. Don't act like you don't want this, bitch. Spill the beans, let him know what he could have, if he takes you right here right now, slut._ He pushed the forward button a couple more times, still no good beat came up. "No reason to freak out, everything's fine. I'm fine." _No, you ain’t_.

"A kink?", more obvious doubt in Ryan's voice. "Is that the new 'I fell down the stairs'? Look, if you two try some things out or whatever, that's great, maybe. But it's not only the bruises, you look … I don't know, gloomy? sad? miserable? dejected? gri-"

"You gonna throw the whole thesaurus at me?", Marshall interrupted annoyed. "I have a mirror, I know how I look." Puffy red eyes, a tired gaze, a bruise on his jaw, clothes that made him look even smaller than he was and generally a ducked down stance. His mirror always said the awful truth about him. Probably he also wore a frown of irritation because Ryan was annoying instead of helpful. Additionally, there must've been some evidence of the painful burn his ass complained with in his features, since his ass made perfectly and loudly clear that sitting would be torture for the rest of his life. Which right now he welcomed as a valid distraction from his thoughts. He really needed to control his lip biting in the future.

Ryan cocked his head. "Then you know why I'm worried. You need anything?"

"For you to stop talking", he growled. Was there some half finished song he could work on? Not a wise idea, chances were he'd ruin the piece with whatever he came up with at the moment.

A sigh. Standing back up again in a gesture of surrender, Ryan nodded. "Fine, whatever, do what you want." He left the small room.

Marshall's eyes followed the movements and stayed a long moment on the closed door. Nobody said, being friends with him was easy. To be anything with him wasn't easy and to pretend otherwise sometimes took out all his energy. _Then don't. Stand to the gay slutty person you are, will make your life so much easier._ One of the many reasons he didn't collaborate with as many artists as he wanted to. He couldn't invite a stranger to his studio for work and be like this. That wasn't professional and it wasn't a good work environment. Not for himself, either, but he couldn't leave himself, could he now? He intensely wished for it.

He reached for his notepad, maybe jotting some words down would start anything. _I live in a bubble, I struggle …_ _Trouble as the pain grows double, give a fuck what you say_, he started writing and shook his head. Wrong direction. The words should go away from it, not toward. He started over again. _Am I not deserving of what I got, did I not work for it? Put it all in every record I record … I keep rapping, but I wonder sometimes, is it worth all the bullshit? Cause it feels like down there ain't no getting up from but I won't let it get me down, I won't succumb_

He snorted derisively at himself. How often could one climb out of shit? Wasn't it only a matter of time, when he inevitably succumbed, regardless of how hard he fought back? Constant dripping wore down every stone and he very much wasn't made of stone. He wished he was. _It just feels like I'm so done with this shit that I may as well wipe. I have nothing else to give you, nothing left to contribute. Farewell, I bid you …_, he stroked the words through. No. _But it's getting harder than I thought to not just go crazy, trapped in this house, I'm about to snap … They'll appreciate me when I'm gone, they'll say it was ill right? They way I killed mics? But the way I feel right now … _He threw the notepad across the room. "Fuck." Why couldn't he come up with something different to say?

He slumped down along the sofa, feet hanging over the arm rest and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Never had he something different to say, always this depressive shit. _Exactly, who wants to listen to you whining? Fill your mouth with a cock instead of a microphone, everyone wins._ Why would anyone want to listen to his shit anyway? He was not original or talented, just a useless, ugly nobody. Why should anyone listen to him? Why would anyone like him? _If your boo and your friends are anything to go by, it's because you're a needy bitch. May not be special, but it's something._ He wasn't special. Lots of people lead painful lives. His life actually was awesome, if he looked at it objectively. He had the best job in the world and got to meet crazily talented people, could even make music with them. He stood on a stage and thousands of people shouted his name. There was enough money in the bank, that no one in his family needed to worry anymore. He had no right to write about being done with life, when his life was this fucking good. How would that feel to people, who actually struggled? Just a slap in their faces. It wasn't good anyway. He would never write something like the _Marshall Mathers LP_ again, regardless of how many crazy rhyme schemes he squeezed into a bar. That wasn't everything. You needed to say something with your art - and he just hadn't anything left to say. _But your mouth ain't useless, homo, go where your talents are: sucking dick._ Only the same old shit.

Because he was useless.

Nicolas would see that soon enough. How long had they been together? Forty-six days. How often had they had sex in that time? Three times, if he was very generous. That's - he pulled his phone out to type the calculation into - once every fifteen days. Not a satisfying ratio. If you were in a relationship, you shouldn't need to wait half a month to get some fun. Soon Nicolas would be surely bored with him. Their nice weekend he had completely ruined by being a coward for normal sex, not even talk about Nicolas's real desires. Marshall was the worst boyfriend ever. Again. And the one time they finally came somewhat close to what Nicolas wanted, Marshall had to fuck it up, of course. He had to lose control and show what an abhorrent thing he was.

Because he was ugly.

Nicolas had to see this already. He couldn't understand why the man continued to call him adorable and beautiful - Marshall wasn't. He was a bad person, inside and out. That was plain as day. However hard he tried to control himself and keep himself in check, in the end his true colors always shone through. How much of a sick fuck he was. Someone who only hurt the people around him. Someone who couldn't be faithful, who had fun cheating on his wife. And he was sure as shit this would continue with Nicolas just the same. He didn't want to hurt the man, but in the end he would lose against himself. He already had. Nicolas had already seen, how much he enjoyed being fucked mindless. There was no denying it.

A sob echoed in the small room. Marshall rolled onto his side and made himself small. He didn't deserve to cry and he didn't deserve how nice Nicolas had been to him all forty-six days long. Even when he fucked it up. Even when he had lost control. There was no reason for Nicolas to care about him, yet the man somehow did and tried to get along with his friends, even hugged him. And he wished, Nicolas could be here now, could hold him now and say again, that he cared about Marshall. He didn't deserve that either, but he wanted it anyway. He always wanted too much.

He was a nobody.

His fingers stroked over the words tattooed on his wrist, even when his eyes were still closed, he knew they were there. A reminder that he could live on, needed to live on. But he also felt the bruises left by Nicolas's belt. He bit his lip and for a moment he held his breath, expecting a smack on his ass. But none came.

What if all of this was just a plot to trap him in Nicolas's arms? Hadn't he said something like this? To make him compliant, so Nicolas could hurt him over and over? That sounded like just deserts. Maybe Nicolas could force him into being a better person. Who was he kidding! His mother had tried and Kim had tried, but all had failed. Deep down inside of him he was wrong and there was no fixing him.

Best thing he could do, was to stay alone. To save the people he loved from the pain of being with him. His partner, his family, his friends, they all suffered because of him, because he was too selfish.

Even now he was too selfish, wishing Nicolas was here. How could he bring the man any closer, when he knew how all this had to end? Deeply he pressed his fingers into his wrist and the bruises, savoring the pain this caused. Holding on to the memories this caused, the memories of the belt keeping him from touching Nicolas, when the man had fucked his face, and keeping him from supporting his own body, when the man had fucked his ass.

A shiver ran down his spine. He bit into his wrist to make the pain stronger, to make the memories stronger. The good memories. But his teeth weren't enough, nothing was ever enough. He licked his fingers, sucked them into his mouth deeply and that flashed his mind with the images and feelings of that night again, of Nicolas's hard dick in his mouth, ruthlessly taking his own pleasure from him, and in the process emptying out Marshall's mind. Which emptied itself out now with every push of his fingers into his mouth, slower than Nicolas could but steadily nonetheless. Relief was settling into his limbs with every next thrust, with every new flick of his tongue. He imagined it being Nicolas and not just his fingers. He could proof to Nicolas, he was worth his time and he was worth his attention. Showing him that he wanted to be just for Nicolas, whether he was strong enough to control himself or not. Maybe Nicolas believed him? He put his wishes on the tip of his tongue. His intentions were true, didn't that count for anything?

"Marshall!" Not Nicolas's voice, not dark enough and the vowels weren't stretched at all. Hands on his shoulders, pulling him up to sit, but he fought them off. He wasn't finished yet, Nicolas hadn't cum yet. "Marshall, come on, man." A warm hand on his face, wiping away tears. But he shook his head. If he left now, life would be harsh again. "Marshall?" There was serious worry in the voice. He knew the voice, he knew this flavor of worry …

Marshall wiped over his eyes to get the tears out of them, so he could open them again. As he did, he saw Ryan kneel in front of him and looking at him with eyes full of concern and sympathy. "What?", he grumbled, his own voice hoarse.

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. "You were pretty gone, man. You okay?"

"Just distracting myself", he muttered. "Sometimes thinking's the worst, you know."

Ryan's hand wiped over his cheek again. "Yeah, maybe … Still, you kinda scared me." The other hand rubbed his neck gently. "You need anything? You wanna call your therapist or something?"

Marshall shook his head slightly, not to lose the hands. "Nah, I'm fine." His eyes came to rest on Ryan's pants, the erection was visible through the denim. If he could suck on a real dick, that would have to be a better distraction than the fantasy of one. "Well, if you're asking like that, I still could use some distraction. You know."

"Course, that's why I came in. Denaun has something really cool and-"

"No, writing don't help", he interrupted his friend. "Tried that, made things worse." He slid to the edge of the couch, closer to Ryan and his hands stroked lightly over his friend's groin. The erection tangible through the jeans. "You kinda interrupted me, you know … I could use help finishing that."

Ryan's Adam's apple bopped visibly as he swallowed. "Ain't we friends?", he said, his voice rough.

Marshall shrugged briefly. "So? Wouldn't be the first time, doesn't make things worse." His hand kneaded the erection through the fabric.

"And … And Nicolas? I mean, you two like each other. Right?" Ryan was still gently stroking his cheek.

"Same as your wife: They don't need to know." His fingers opened the belt and undid the zipper.

Ryan leaned his forehead against Marshall's. "But … You sure? I don't think, you're thinking straight right now … I mean …"

Marshall smiled warm. "When do I ever think straight?", he chuckled softly at the pun. "Just, I hate my head right now … Please?"

A short nod, then their lips met. A careful kiss, tender feelings palpable. Ryan's fingers still caressed his neck.

Marshall's hand found its way into the jeans, into the boxer shorts and stroked over the hard-on. A sigh between their lips. He directed his friend with soft pressure against the chest to sit on the coffee table. Then he could kneel in front of him and a second later his lips enveloped the erection. Again, relief settled into his limbs, this would make the bad thoughts go away. This was easy. This he could do right. He needed to do it right and things would be okay again. So, he focused intently on the hard dick in his mouth, how his lips moved around the hot skin and when to flick his tongue against the pulsing flesh, to control his throat as he took it deep and to find a nice rhythm moving his head.

Ryan sighed and moaned in low tones, enjoyment audible in every sound. His hand still caressed Marshall's neck gently, until eventually the fingers clawed into him. "Marsh, I'm …"

Without hesitation Marshall took the orgasm in and continued his efforts throughout it. Only when he felt Ryan relax again, did he let go of the softening member.

"Damn …!"

Marshall rubbed over his lips with his thumb as he looked up. A small smirk. "I like the sound of that. I thought I was getting rusty."

"Not that I can tell", Ryan replied with a playful smile of his own.

With a short nod, Marshall slid back onto the couch and briefly rubbed the joint of his jaw. It still felt sore from the night with Nicolas, like everything else.

"Ain't Nicolas … keeping you in shape?" Ryan put his pants back in order.

"Well", Marshall weighed his head. "It's less me giving him a blowjob and more him … fucking my face, kinda. He likes to, uhm, direct things, if you will."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Does he?"

"He likes to order me around", Marshall continued his explanation and shrugged, "and just generally be in control, I think. That's what the belt was for. But we don't really do it often, so that's a bit in the way of 'being in shape' for now." He leaned back on the couch and tried to find a position that his ass wouldn't be too offended by. By the feel of it, the only passable solution might be a handstand. He wasn't doing that.

"Right, the sex-embargo."

Marshall crinkled his nose. "Don't call it that. That's not even it, it's more, I don't know, we don't have much time together, and certainly not alone."

Ryan sat down next to him on the couch. "Might be better. He doesn't sound like a nice guy, at least not in bed." He slid closer to Marshall. "Can I lend you a hand with that?", and gestured toward Marshall's pants, which although too big on him still couldn't hide his own erection.

"Nah, I'm fine." He picked at his pants, to find a more comfortable fit.

A questioning look from Ryan.

Marshall shrugged again. "He's a person, sometimes nice, sometimes not nice. You ain't nice all the time either and we're still friends."

"True", Ryan gave in. "But I usually try to be nice to the people I like, you know."

"Which I'm sure they appreciate", Marshall assured him with jest in his voice.

Ryan nudged him in the side. "You can barely sit right", he pointed out aptly.

Marshall shifted in his seat again. "On purpose, though. I mean, you saw him, of course he ain't into snuggling. He's a fighter. I mean, he brought a real fucking sword to the party, that kinda speaks for itself."

"That was real?", Ryan asked surprised, uneasy. "Man, he's weirder than I thought. Is that even legal?"

Marshall nodded strongly. "Exactly what I said."

"I'm starting to get why you two like each other."

"What's that supposed to mean?", Marshall asked with raised eyebrows.

Ryan shrugged unsure how to answer this properly. "Well … You are a bit of an odd person yourself, don't you think? I mean, that's part of your charm and no reason to change, but you're not really a regular guy. That was pretty obvious the first time I met you."

"Bullshit. I'm as normal as everyone else … Minus the music career, maybe, I give you that." Being a worldwide successful rapper wasn't exactly normal, he was aware of that.

Ryan grinned amused. "You, my friend, are a lot of things, but normal ain't one of them. Just think, you come her all depressed, then cry on the couch for a good hour or so, suck a friend off and now your world's fine again? That ain't how normal people behave, you know."

Marshall wanted to answer back, but couldn't really come up with words to say.

"Plus", Ryan continued to add, "You don't get yourself off, for some reason. And that's just today. You sometimes break out randomly into a rap mid-sentence, not always on topic. You talk to yourself a whole lot, even when you're sleeping. And whether or not something's funny or angers you is decided by the flip of a coin, it seems sometimes. Although, that has gotten better. If you get something in your head, you have to do it, even if it's the most obviously dumb idea ev-"

"Okay, okay", Marshall interrupted grumpily, "I get the point, dude, I get it. I'm a weird-ass person, thanks for sharing."

Briefly Ryan pulled him into a hug with one arm. "No reason to feel bad. We like you, because you're a bit weird. At least, I do."

"Heartwarming, that's just heartwarming", he answered sarcastically.

"Good, we're on the same page there." Ryan flashed him a smile.

Marshall rolled his eyes, that seemed to be the only answer to make sense. He leaned back and let his head fall on the back rest of the couch. The ceiling was chiding him, the dark grey color strict and austere. The message was clear: He had fucked up again. But what else was he to do?

"I used to practice, you know", Marshall said in a calm voice. He managed to break eye contact with the ceiling and looked over to Ryan. His friend had a puzzled expression, so Marshall added: "Blowjobs, when I was a kid I used to practice them."

Ryan still seemed puzzled. "What?"

"I wanted to be good in something." He shrugged. Wasn't that obvious? You practiced, what you wanted to be good at. That's how life worked. "You know, I wasn't good at anything. Well, I could draw but that ain't impressive, is it. Was before I started rapping."

"Sure", Ryan nodded slowly, "I get that. But why this of all things? That's a weird choice."

It probably was, now in hindsight. "Seemed to make sense at the time. I had a huge crush on this guy and I thought he was the coolest, you know. Like you do with thirteen, anyone older than you is the coolest or something. He was so fucking proud of this one porn movie he owned." Marshall snickered briefly. Kids could be really stupid, just because they didn't know any better yet. "Seems really dumb now. Main attraction of the thing was a woman sucking a dick, so the guy of course went on and on about that. Not that he knew anything real, but you know kids, they never admit to that. So I thought, that would be a good way to impress him, to make him like me."

"There's some twisted kind of logic in there, I guess", Ryan reluctantly agreed, still looking at him skeptical. "So you practiced? How? I'm assuming, if you wanted to impress him, you didn't practice on him."

Marshall let out a short, amused snort. "God forbid, no. I wanted to do it right to him, anything less would've been defeat. Mostly I practiced with bananas. I mean, come on."

"Really?", Ryan asked with mild surprise. "I thought you didn't like them. Or wait, ain't you allergic? Someone was allergic to them …" His gaze shifted away for a moment, thinking.

Marshall shook his head, still leaning on the back rest. "No, I just tell people that. I actually used to like them quite a bit, but … Some wires got crossed or something, is really embarrassing now, or was back then at least. Haven't tried them in a while."

Ryan raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Don't tell me you get hard, when you eat some piece of fruit."

"Technically, bananas are an herb, not a fruit."

"How do you even know that?", Ryan asked stumped.

"I just told you, I used them as practice. I spent a couple of months with them before I moved on to the real thing, of course I picked up something like that. I used to know why, though, but … I think, that's lost now." In the end, that wasn't impressive knowledge, so who cared.

Ryan shook his head with a brief laugh, the grin showed his teeth. "Dude, just when I thought you couldn't get more random. Must've been fun to hang with you as a kid. Something's always up, hm."

"Nah, I was pretty boring as a kid. Still am."

The grin on Ryan's face told, that he didn't agree with this statement. But he thought better than to dwell on it. "What happened then? Was the guy impressed with you? I mean, you sacrificed eating for him."

Marshall sighed. "Nope, he wasn't. I didn't even get that far. Apparently, it's more fun to beat up a gay kid, than to get your dick sucked."

"Ouch …"

"That's what I said", Marshall agreed. "Well, before I collapsed. Didn't do much talking then."

Ryan shook his head, "Not what I meant." He put his arm around Marshall's shoulders again, this time permanently. "His loss, man. The things you can do with your mouth are impressive as fuck, rapping or otherwise."

A genuine smile on Marshall's lips. "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alert:** I changed the archive warnings of this story to **Rape/Non-Con**.  
I am writing this story without plotting anything in advance, but I recently wrote a scene that is dubious regarding consent, to put it mildly. Additionally, they already have been and they will be more hints scattered throughout the story that some past sexual experiences also had dubious consent. With this accumulation I feel it's necessary to reflect it in the tags.  
It's also important to note, that - at least so far - the characters don't acknowledge any of this nor is there any attempt at resolving this. Or anything at all. To the characters consent isn't a big deal. Which, in reality, it very much is and a serious one as well.
> 
> If this bothers, angers or hurts anyone reading the story, this might not be a good fit after all.


	33. So Long, Bitch, You Did Me So Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Marshall got himself somewhat back together on Monday, the week moved on unremarkable until Thursday and with that Thanksgiving rolled around. In the Mather's house, Thanksgiving is for family and so his brother but also his ex-wife come by.  
It's no surprise, that Marshall and Kim end up fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Marshall and Kim had a rather abusive relationship interspersed with domestic violence in the past. Even though they're divorced now, their relationship has not gotten any better.

Marshall looked at the table and counted the plates once more, seven. He smiled for a moment, thinking how amazing it was that his family counted seven people in total. That was a lot of people. Even if they weren't always nice to each other, he was thankful for everyone of them. Which fitted perfectly the theme of the evening.

He called them all for dinner and while they seated themselves, he mixed himself another glass of the red drink he recently had grown fond of. As he came back to the table to take his seat, he halted for a moment. His three girls sat at their usual places, expected, but his ex-wife and his brother sat as far away from each other as possible, which somehow left himself to sit between his maybe-sister-in-law and his ex-wife. Just a little bit awkward. Oh well, he was an adult. _Since when? You, my little gay looking boy, hadn't had a growth spurt since you sucked your first dick._ He could eat civilly next to Kim.

So he sat down. "Everyone, dig in." It followed the clings and clangs of plates and pots being passed around and the chatter of "Hand me the gravy" grew into an easy conversation. Marshall didn't much participate. He wasn't in the mood for company, if he was being honest, but this was Thanksgiving and his girls deserved some wholesome family time. If not today, when else? Also, he liked to see his daughters and Kim spend time together. He hated how broken their family was, so he tried even harder to smooth things over for them. It wasn't the girls fault, that their parents couldn't be together.

His ears perked up, as his brother Nate said in a very accusing tone: "You have a boyfriend?" Marshall thought in a moment of shock this was meant for him and tried to find an excuse. But there was none.

Then, Kim answered: "So what? Am I not allowed to date?"

Nate responded with a disapproving huff.

"You date? Huh. Cool", Marshall said and continued with his meal. Relieved. _Pussy. Your friends knew all this time, what makes you think your family doesn't?_

Kim looked at him lightly annoyed. "What?"

"Uhm, good for you?" Was that better? He shrugged.

Now she seemed just puzzled. "What?"

"Hope, it's going well for you two", he added, but she still looked at him confused. "I don't know. What you want me to say?" _No one wants you to say anything. Just shut up, fag!_

She frowned. "I didn't expect you to say anything."

"Oh", he tilted his head slightly, nonplussed. "Well, then pretend I didn't." _I wish I could, but fuck me is your voice annoying. And no dick in sight to shut you up._

"So, you're cool with her dating some random guy?", Nate asked, still with this accusing tone.

Marshall shrugged again. "What's it to me? She's her own woman and we've been divorced for years. If she wants to put herself out there, that's her business."

Kim gave him a short but friendly smile.

"And it's always some random person, until they suddenly ain't anymore. That's how meeting new people works", he added. They'd gone through enough shit together and tried hard enough to make it work and it just wouldn't between them. What else was he to do but to let go? However hard that was. He still thought of her as family, he always would, and he loved her, but he also sometimes hated her fiercely. They both deserved to find some peace and it wasn't with each other. A truth, that was hard to swallow.

"Why so nice all of a sudden?", Nate asked perplexed.

Lainy grinned conspiratorial as she explained: "Maybe, because he has a girlfriend, too. They've been going out for a while now."

"You've got a girlfriend?", Kim asked surprised and eyed him up close.

Marshall shrugged. "Not for long. I'll probably end things soon." He already should've had. He never should've started this relationship in the first place. A fistfight was never a good start for romance. _You don't do romance, homo, don't kid yourself._ Did he never learn from his experiences? He always made the same mistakes over and over again.

"What? Why?", asked Hailie. "The other day you said, everything was going fine. What happened?"

How did he always end up in these conversations? "We want different things. That happened. And I don't want to talk about it, Hai-Hai. Is that really so hard for you to understand?" _But you keep talking about it. Why can't you shut up?_

"I see", Kim said in a bored tone as if she had heard this story a thousand times before. Also, bitter. "She's serious and you aren't and now you're dumping her. That's your problem, you know, you don't take these things serious. You're too selfish."

Marshall sneered: "I take them serious enough." In this case, his own well-being and his own life were a very serious thing to him and Nicolas clearly made a threat, he should not ignore. Was that selfish? Nevertheless, they were still texting each other. Nevertheless, he was fucking things up already.

"So, is she a nice person?", Kim asked doubtful.

Lainy was quick to answer for him: "Her name's Nicky, she works at a night club and he likes her smile very much."

Marshall threw his hands up questioning and disapproving. What did she do that for?

"Night club?", Kim asked ill-humored. "Really, Marshall? Of course you have to do that. Can't you find a normal girl?"

Nate weighed his head thinking. "I can see the appeal." His girlfriend cleared her throat warningly. "For him, of course, not for me", he added quickly.

Marshall rubbed his temple. "Security, good grief, it's security, not what you're thinking. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Well, you had a fling with a po- … an adult film actress once, an exotic dancer would actually be a step up for you." Kim caught herself fast enough, after all, their daughters sat at the table, but her discontent shone through brightly.

He sighed. "I didn't, aight. How often do I have to tell you that? Nothing was going on there." _Damn was she hot! Lucky you're famous, slut, otherwise your girly ass would never get a fine broad like that._ They had these kinds of conversations too often in front of others, specifically their daughters. Was that necessary, now?

"You called her, frequently", Kim said in a sharp tone.

What a weird accusation was that, since when was calling someone a crime? "Can't I talk to people?" Marshall was growing annoyed, not just that they were almost fighting again but over this stupid thing of all things. At least airing out their shit should be meaningful, not petty, shouldn't it?

Kim shook her head. "To someone like that? No, you can't, not when you're in a relationship."

"Why not? They're people, too, with friends and families and hobbies and stuff", he argued. "She was a nice person and we had quite some things in common." _I'll say! You still have her number? Two loose pussies is exactly what this night needs._

"You watched her films", Kim pressed on. "That's not having things in common."

"So?", he frowned, "She listened to my music, that's par for the course. I really don't get, what your problem is. There was nothing going on there."

She snorted disbelieving. Probably, she would never believe him. Now it didn't matter anymore.

"Anyway …", Nate stretched, "Nicky, right? Is she hot? D'you have a picture of her?"

Marshall groaned annoyed and his silverware clattered on the plate as he threw it down. "Could ya'll just drop it? I've had it up to here with everybody being all up in my business about this. If I wanted anyone to know, I would've said something. But I don't, aight. Why's that so fucking hard? Just leave me alone!"

"Marshall!", Kim reprimanded him promptly about his cursing. "Control yourself."

Nate raised his hands defensively. "Aight … Relax, bro, I was just asking."

"Eat your dinner", Marshall growled.

"I take it, therapy isn't going too well?", Kim asked with a reproachful look on her face. She always pushed further than he could stand.

He rubbed his neck trying to calm down, and rolled his shoulders. "As a matter of fact, it's going quite well. It actually works, you know." It worked a little too well. Was he really trying to be gay? His hands picked up the fork and knife again to finish his meal.

She tilted her head skeptically. "Really? Didn't fix your temper, evidently."

"If ya'll keep pestering me, I'ma lash out. Not my fault. Just because I go to therapy, doesn't mean I want to bare myself to everyone."

"Since when?", she asked cynically. "You serve yourself to millions already."

He glared at her annoyed. "Believe it or not, I don't put everything into my music. I pick and choose." Of all people, she should know him better.

"Yeah, right", Kim muttered disbelieving. Most things he said, she didn't believe. He couldn't exactly fault her for that, after all, he had lied to her - a lot. In her shoes, he probably wouldn't believe a single word out of his mouth. How Nicolas thought of him as honest, was beyond him. What would the man do the first time he caught Marshall in a lie? _He'll probably put that sword of his to good use, and I don't mean the one in his pants. Let's see if you can swallow that, too, bitch. _He suspected something much less understanding than how he portrayed himself so far.

"Uncle Nate?", Lainy asked, "You wanna see the vacation pics we took this summer?" A sweet attempt to change the subject.

His brother nodded with a smile: "Of course. What fun things did you girls do?"

"Snorkeling." The rest of the dinner was accompanied by stories from their summer vacation and how school was going for the girls and similar chitchat. Marshall rather not open his mouth, he didn't want to cause any more of a scene tonight than he already had.

* * *

The game was playing on TV and Lainy's laptop was showing their vacation pictures. But Marshall hardly payed attention either way. The hand in his pocket was clasped around his phone and the thoughts in his mind were clasped around Nicolas. He should end it. Why couldn't he? _Because you want his dick_.

Of course he saw, how Nicolas was obviously dangerous, threatening to hurt him and also making him lose control so utterly, but to Marshall he hadn't been nothing else but nice. At least a lot nicer than most people were to him. He remembered waking up next to him, the warm body in his bed he could nestle against, the pleasant weight of an arm around him … _Ugh, stop this romantic shit. Love ain't for you, slut. You fuck, that's all you do. Even when you had a wife, she was just somebody you fuck. _Marshall wanted that. He ached to be with somebody and every time he was with Nicolas, it felt like with him it was possible. He knew, that was exactly Nicolas's play, the man had said as much: healing him first, so he could hurt him all over again.

Was that all his life had to offer? _Ain't a bad life. You worked hard to get here. Why don't you enjoy it? The money, the fame, the women - you have it all and you're still fucking miserable. Get out there and get some life fucked into you. _Being in pain for some reason or other? But when he was with Nicolas the pain eased off a little. Ever since their days at the lake it didn't feel like a disaster waiting to happen that he was with a man. Of course he was still afraid to lose his family and his friends over this, but the fear was not strong enough to end their relationship, as it would've been in the past. Probably therapy helped too, giving him hope that his daughters at least wouldn't turn away from him, not permanently. Times were changing and they were good girls, who he tried to teach an open mind. Perhaps they could overcome this eventually?

That was a hope, he felt for the first time.

And even though he had panicked hard on Halloween, he'd had a lot of fun that night as well, particularly wearing his outfit and not hiding it away. _See, I told you. You should listen to me. And I say: Let's go somewhere and fuck some life into you, slut. This shit's too depressing._ At least on Halloween with everybody in costume, it hadn't seemed quite so daunting and all in all, he had enjoyed that night quite a lot. More so than most other parties he went to. He slowly came to the realization his friends wouldn't leave him. Or at least not all of them. Ryan had supported him from the very first moment, urging him to try this seriously and pushing him passed his fears. Denaun had gone out of his way to have his back and take Marshall for who he was, regardless of how incomprehensible it was to him. So, if disaster still struck, there was a slight chance that at least two of his friends would be with him. That was more than nothing.

Suddenly, there was a non-zero chance things might turn out okay in the end.

And against his better judgement, he wanted to take this chance with Nicolas. Because he gave Marshall the feeling that he could be himself and Nicolas would still be there, intimately and heartfelt. _Don't do this to yourself, little gay looking boy. I know you're a romantic girl, but this ain't a fairy tale, this is a porn flick. Don't open your heart, open your ass._ That Nicolas wanted to still be there for him and that he still wanted Marshall, even when he made a fool of himself, even when he couldn't bear a touch, even when he was too weak, even when he was an asshole, even when he wore women's clothes, even when he lost all control of himself. If that was true, maybe there was a non-zero chance things might turn out okay with Nicolas, too? That Nicolas would still want him, even when Marshall fucked things up.

Was that worth being ripped apart for?

A pillow hit his head. "Hey!", he rubbed his neck and turned to the thrower, his brother. "What was that for?"

"Finally a reaction", Nate said. "Must've been one heck of a daydream you've had there." A grin that thought, it knew something.

"I was watching the game", he replied and pointed to the TV. Commercials, of course, wasn't he lucky.

Nate snickered. "Sure thing. Dreamed about Nicky, eh?"

"Shut up", Marshall growled. Why did everyone need to bring this up? All the fucking time somebody said something about his love life. Why the fucking hell did they do that? It couldn't be that hard to just say nothing. _You ever listen to yourself, bitch?_

"Well, if you don't want her anymore, what about this girl?" Nate turned the laptop around so Marshall could see the display. It showed a picture of the Halloween party, a fair skinned woman in a slinky nurse costume - a technician from his studio.

But he saw only one thing: his Halloween party. "Where did you get that?", he asked in a lurking tone. Had they more pictures? Had they already seen him? And his costume? And Nicolas? And everything?

"From Trenton", Hailie answered and shrugged noncommittal. "You're so cagey about Nicky, so I thought I ask him if he could get any pictures from the party, so that I can just take a look for myself, you know."

Shrewd. Ryan took pictures of almost everything, always having his phone only inches away. Not an easy task for his son to get a hold of it long enough to get the pictures off of it, but not impossible. Very shrewd.

How she got them, didn't change his predicament. He wanted to yell at her and take the laptop away and ground her and then yell some more. He wanted to disappear and not be spoken to or be seen of ever again, just to not exist anymore. He wanted her - all of them - to stop and let him breath, to give him the time he needed to figure things out. If he could be gay and if he could be with Nicolas; and if it took a lifetime for him to figure it out, that was not their decision to make.

But this was his daughter, he didn't shout at her. This was their family time, not a time for fighting. What if the pictures didn't show anything suspicious? _Come on, even you can't be this dense. The way Ryan looked at you, I'm sure half his phone is full with pictures of you. He has a serious boner for you, fag. Why don't you put on your dress and you two fuck through the weekend? His dick is exactly right for you: absolutely horny._ He had to calm the fuck down!

His heart didn't get the memo, beating rapidly and loudly, and his mind tried hard to pull words out that were acceptable in front of his daughters. "Does it ever occur to you, to not stick your nose into my life?", he said slowly and tried his hardest to sound calm.

"I figured", Hailie explained, "You're making much ado about nothing, like usual, and it'd be a lot easier for you to just not. But since you don't want to talk about her, which you made perfectly clear, we need to find a different way to help. First step is to figure out what the problem is. Hence, the pictures."

He inhaled deeply, mostly to give himself some time and think about his words first. His daughter did not deserve him lashing out and spewing mean things against her. "The problem is none of your concern, okay? I know you mean well and I appreciate the thought, I really do, but I don't need your help, Hai-Hai. Things would be a lot easier, if people would just leave me alone for once and let me do things my own way. Either I get there or I don't, but I have to do this myself - not you or somebody else. But this, what you're doing, is not helpful, okay. So, please, would you delete all the pictures? I'd be really thankful if you could shelf your curiosity on this."

"What are you talking about? What's going on here?", Kim asked puzzled by the serious tone the conversation had taken.

He couldn't help it, his eyes rolled. "Don't you listen? I ain't talking about it."

"About what?", she asked again. She'd always been good in ignoring hints, even the most broadest of hints. Not that she wouldn't get them, she did, but she disregarded them out of principle. What principle that was, he could never quite figure out. Maybe general dickishness?

Marshall turned back to the TV.

"About Nicky", Hailie explained in his stead. "They spent a whole weekend at the lake house and all we can get out of him is, that she has a nice smile or something. They've been going out for months and I only found out by accident. That's so weird."

Kim grumbled in agreement. "It kinda is. Come on, how bad can she be? Or isn't she bad enough for you? When it comes to these things, you've always been tasteless. Don't be such a drama queen, just spit it out."

"Why's it so hard to understand, that I don't want to talk about this? Do I have to spell it out for you guys?" He wondered for a moment, if Kim remembered. It had been so long ago and they'd never spoken about it again. Possibly she didn't remember or had chosen to forget, otherwise she would've used it in some of their uglier fights over the years, he was sure. Would she've used it to take the girls away from him? He was glad, she'd forgotten.

Lainy shrugged. "Because you always do. You always tell us, when you have someone for a while. We're your moral support for relationships. At least, we used to be, but ever since you two split up again, you kinda … I don't know, you gave up. Of course we're excited, when you get some life back."

"Always?", he asked a little confused. "I had like two long-term girlfriends in all my life, not counting your mom. How's that always?"

Lainy looked at him doubtful. "Depends on what you mean by long-term. But you always tell us, when you like someone, you know. When and how you started dating them, what you like about them, how your relationship is going and all that stuff. It's sweet."

Marshall frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have." _Told you, bitch._

"Told you", Kim interjected. "But you never listen to me."

"Why should I? Most of the time you're badmouthing me or I don't understand you. What's there to listen to?"

Kim glared at him darkly. "You're so full of yourself. Sometimes it's impossible to talk to you."

What did that have to do with anything? "Maybe if you talked straight, it'd be easier."

"If I could get a word in edgewise, it would. You ask, why people are always up in your business? Why your daughters stick their noses into your life? Because you make it so. You have no filter. Whatever you're thinking, you have to say ASAP or you burst or something. You can't control yourself. How d'you think I always knew when you cheated on me? I didn't want to know, but you made it impossible to ignore. The same with your music, you put everything out there, for the whole world to know. Of course everyone's all over you then."

Marshall rolled his eyes. Why did she always bring up his music? "That again. I thought, that's done. We've been over this a hundred times by now. I'm sorry, I wrote that song, okay? I write to get things off my chest, all great artists do, that's personal by nature. And it pays the bills. There's always a trade-off, whatever career you want, and for being a successful musician it's being public property. Get over it."

"Go to hell", she snarled back.

He flipped her off in response.

"Are you two done? You are the most childish grown-ups ever", Hailie said with a sigh. Then she took the laptop into her hands. "Fine, Dad, I'll delete the pictures, if that's so important to you. Looked like a fun party, though. But, if you want your privacy, that's okay, I guess. Whenever you'll need tips for a romantic date with Nicky, we'll be here anyway." She made a few clicks on her machine. "There, done, deleted."

Looked like a fun party? What was that supposed to mean? He needed to find out what Ryan had taken photos of that night. Certainly sounded like Hailie, and by extensions all of his daughters, had seen them all. Maybe his brother now, too, at least some of them. "Thank you, Hai-Hai."

* * *

"What's up with you?", Kim asked standing behind him.

Having heard steps coming into the kitchen, he wasn't surprised to be spoken to, but who was speaking did surprise him a little. They had agreed one-on-one conversations weren't good for them. Deciding his drink could wait, Marshall turned around to face her and leaned against the counter. "What you mean?"

"Don't act stupid", she snorted with snide. "That", and she gestured toward the living room. Eloquent.

He couldn't hide the eye roll. "I repeat, I ain't talking about it. And certainly not with you." As if she would have anything helpful to say or just something not hurtful.

A frown on her face. "They're my kids, too, don't forget that." _I sense a cat fight coming. Ready your pussy, fag, I want you to win. You can do this!_

"Don't worry, the girls are fine." He would always make sure that statement was true.

"Then why do they try to fix you again? Don't you have your therapist for that? I thought I made myself clear about stuff like this, don't be a burden on them." She had, crystal clear. As if he liked it, when his daughters visibly worried about him, of course not. What was he supposed to do? Hide himself even more from his family? That wasn't a solution, he knew, because he already hid.

He stifled a sigh. "I did not ask them to. They're kids and nosy, that's all it is. Don't read anything into it."

She had a doubtful look on her face. "Sure, like your bloody wrists don't mean anything, my ass. Don't do stuff like that in front of them, that's just wrong."

Instantly he stroked over one of his wrists, the bruises still brightly visible on his skin. Of course he wore only long sleeves these days, but he still needed to live and therefore to move his hands. Some peeking through was unavoidable. At least the light bruise on his jaw had subsided, otherwise Kim probably would've had some choice words for it as well. "Don't get hysterical. You broke my nose once - in front of them. Ain't that worse?"

"I didn't", she fended his statement off. "Your nose wasn't broken, it just bled a little. You're frail, you know that." That was a highly debatable assessment of the situation. A debate he didn't actually want to get into. Ever. "Besides, that looks more like one of your … weird things again. You found someone as dirty and depraved as you? Ew." She wrinkled her nose in disgust, not even pretending to hide her feelings about the matter.

His body tensed, preparing for a fight or maybe to flee. He wasn't sure yet. "What I meant is, there's nothing to see here and nothing to worry about."

"Everything with you is a reason to worry about." A motto of hers.

He hated it, when she talked like this. Mostly because he thought she was right, sometimes because he knew she wasn't. "Let me be clear, it's nothing _you_ have to worry about."

She cocked her head. "So, there _is_ something to worry about? I knew it."

Again, he couldn't keep his eyes from rolling. Somehow she was even better at twisting his words than he was. "No, there ain't. Just because I grapple with something, don't mean anyone needs to worry. Just enjoy your time with the girls."

"You grapple with something?", she made air quotes around his turn of phrase. "About what? That you ruin everything, particularly in bed? Making it weird like that won't fix it, believe me."

He knitted his eyebrows. "That ain't a very festive way to talk. It's a holiday, lighten up." Maybe he could salvage this conversation enough for it not to break out into a serious fight.

Kim's face stayed sour.

Honestly, he expected that. "It's none of your business."

"Of course it is", she rebuked. "We have a family together. So by extension, whoever you date is my business, especially if she's unsuitable to be around the kids."

He looked at her dumbstruck. Where even to begin? Everything about that sentence was … wrong, just plain wrong. On that thought, he send a quick prayer to his therapist, that he actually caught this instead of falling for it. "No!", he managed to say. Was it worth arguing over? They never came out the same side.

"Yes", she insisted with a strong nod. "I won't stand for you dragging another slut in here. You're bad enough. The kids live here, think about that."

"He ain't-", Marshall bit his tongue hard. Fuck. "Believe me, I won't ever bring anyone home that couldn't be trusted with the girls." In fact, he hadn't brought home a single girlfriend before. Not that he'd had many long-term relationships at all, but even the one that had lasted a whole year he had not introduced to his daughters. It just didn't feel right.

"He?", of course that was the word she focused on. "What'd you mean, he?"

Marshall shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go ba-"

"This Nicky is a guy?", she interrupted him. "You're dating a guy? Did you break your brain again? You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can! I can do whatever the hell I want!", he snapped back. "You don't tell me what to do, we ain't together anymore. Shut your mouth and spend time with the girls, that's all you're here for."

Kim had this angry glare in her eyes, he knew so well. "Don't you yell at me! I can't believe you're doing this to me. To them! Didn't you fail us enough? How broken are you? And I thought - I hoped you'd gotten over it. I mean, you aren't some confused teen anymore, grow the fuck up. You know, this shouldn't - _cannot_ exist. You can't be serious! This is wrong, you know that, deep down you know how wrong this is. You're sick, really sick. Disgusting even. Do you really think, you could live like this? That this'll make you happy? Nothing will ever make you happy. You will die alone! And if you really go through with this, I take the kids and leave the fucking country!"

His hand shot forward and grabbed her arm tight. "You won't!", he growled angry. "Don't you even think about taking my girls. If you think I made your life hell so far, believe me, this will look like a picnic in comparison."

"Let go off me!", she wriggled her wrist in an attempt to free herself. In vain. "You prick! Let go, you're hurting me!"

Marshall pulled her in close and put more pressure into the hold. He was certain, he would leave a bruise with a grip this strong and he was pleased with the thought. "If you take them away from me, I'll find you and make you pay. You hear me?"

There was a smidge of fear in her eyes, but her anger usually won, they had that in common. "You'll only have yourself to blame! You're the same sick fuck you always been. A useless, ugly nobody! A repulsive, abhorrent thing and you can go whoring yourself out to your fans as much as you want, it won't change that you're done. You're almost forty, your best days are long behind you, but you're still the same weak, out of control scumbag you've always been. No matter how many pills you take or how much money you throw around, you'll stay the same sick, perverted asshole!" She twisted her arm out of his grip. "At some point, even your money can't make up for that."

Again, his fists clenched hard, he felt his nails dug into the palms. Violence may not be a solution, but sometimes it was the most satisfying action. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. "Leave! Go! Get out!", he yelled at her, venting his anger this way. "Get the fuck out of my house! Before I forget myself!"

Kim flipped him off. "Yeah, throw me out, that won't change anything. You better break up with that gay whore of yours. Ugh, so gross, you're fucking disgusting! I don't even know why I put up with you." She turned on her heels and walked to the door, but before she left, she looked back at him one more time. "Really, you need to stop all of this, I won't have my kids near a couple of perverts."

"Just go and die already!", he threw at her instead of the punch itching in his fist.

With force she threw the door close behind her, a loud bang that was audible throughout the whole house.

A glass shattered against the door and red juice dripped down the wooden panel. "Fucking bitch!"


	34. Gangsta. #02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after Thanksgiving and Nicolas has to calm Marshall down, who's reeling from the fight with his ex-wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, Nicolas is a character from the manga/anime Gangsta. - it's a brutal story about mafia families. The fight in this chapter is directly taken out of the manga, therefore the physical possibilities of a human aren't realistic. I vary some details about the manga, but to most elements I want to stay true.

Nicolas looked up into the sky, white with clouds. Why had he to pick up groceries today? He hated stores on a normal day, the day after Thanksgiving though was uniquely brutal. But they needed jam, he had to concede, also that he was the one who had emptied the glass. The phone vibrated in his pocket, two distinct vibrations meant Marshall had sent a message. He shifted the paper bag in his arms to better pull the device out of his pants. The message read: I can't do this no more

What had happened now? As far as Nicolas knew, the aftereffect of their highly pleasurable but also abruptly ended night had worn off. It had taken a couple of days, but eventually Marshall had sounded normal again - to say happy would be a stretch even on a good day with the man. However, he would have assumed a whole day with his children would bring Marshall close to that emotion. Apparently, even a day like Thanksgiving couldn't achieve this. One more lie TV had told him. Still, didn't give him a clue on what exactly this text was about. Nicolas replied: what happened? I'm sure, it isn't as bad

Most things weren't as bad as people thought. All a matter of perspective.

A thud into his torso, he looked up from his phone. And raised an eyebrow. What did Nina do here? And why was she running down the stairs without looking? Dr. Theo would chop his head off, if anything happened to her here. The Doc was too protective of his niece.

A short nod, then he walked past her up the stairs to the apartment. Worick stood there only in briefs and his eyepatch, otherwise naked; Alex in her usual provocative outfit - short and tight. He would've ran from them, too. But he squeezed past them through the door and went into the kitchen.

Another message came in: you gonna break up with me anyway, better we do this now before it hurts

Nicolas raised both eyebrows at this. How was a man as stunning, talented and successful as Marshall so insecure? He already told the man numerous times, he wouldn't easily break up with him, but that somehow didn't seem to stick. A suspicion crept up in Nicolas, that some of Marshall's relationships probably broke because of these kinds of statements. He could imagine, most people didn't like to hear accusations about a negative future, they didn't intend to make real. Also, it was annoying. Nicolas replied: I don't see any reason. I enjoy dating you. you don't?

Then he unpacked the groceries. After everything was stowed away, he took a bottle of water and a can of soda out of the fridge.

In the living room, meanwhile, Worick, Alex and Nina seemed to make small talk. Glad, he had not to participate. Coming in with stealth, he put the cold can against Nina's neck. She jerked up. So easy to spook her. >Take this, we ran out of mineral water. So drink this one.<

With slow signs Nina said: >Nico, you always say that. But you always buy one of them for me. Thank you.<

From the corner of his eye, he could see Worick whisper into Alex's ear. "She comes here occasionally to play and she's learning sign language from Nic as an excuse. Isn't she cute?"

Alex seemed touched. She wasn't with them terribly long yet, there were lots of things and many people she didn't know.

As a rebuttal of her cute smile, Nicolas pinched Nina's nose. That's what she got for thinking he was nice to her on purpose.

"So, Nina", Worick started, "What brings you here today?"

"Well", the kid stuttered and ruffled through her hand bag, "Dr. Theo sent me here, along with this medicine." She pulled out two bottles of pills. "He's expecting these to run out of stock soon." Dr. Theo's calculations were slightly off, they were already out of stock.

Nicolas sat down next to her. >Thanks<, and took the bottles from her, inspected them. They looked less full than usual? >He really is the best at cutting corners when it comes to his medicine.<

"She works as a nurse at Doctor Theo's clinic", Worick explained to Alex. "We're looking after her every now and then. She may only be a little kid but her work ethic puts us adults to shame. And she's also very skillful at working on stitches."

Alex looked surprised at the twelve-year old girl. "A nurse? That's amazing."

"Ah, not yet", Nina deflected, "I am still an apprentice." Of course the girl was selling herself short. Nicolas trusted her more than the Doc.

Now he popped some of the pills into his mouth.

Nina pulled at his shirt. "Nico! Not again! Don't do it! You shouldn't take an overdose!"

>It's alright, it's alright!<

"No! It's not okay!", she persisted and tried to grab the small bottle from his hand.

Worick was faster, much to Nicolas's annoyance. "Hm, sending you here with these, I wonder what sort of job does Dr. Theo expect us to deal with."

>Today was supposed to be our day off<, Nicolas declared. Couldn't Dr. Theo deal with things himself? Wasn't like the man was incapable of doing so.

"Hey Nic, don't interrupt me when it gets important!", Worick chided him.

>I was only joking!< Another text message vibrated in his pocket. Maybe he wasn't joking after all. Marshall did take up a considerable amount of time to deal with.

Worick continued: "Could Dr. Theo probably be involved in something with some group again?"

Nina sighed. A serious face on a girl this young looked wrong. "If his opponents were ordinary people, he would be requesting this from Inspector Chad, but …" That could be interesting.

"I see, so there is a Tagged among them."

His thoughts exactly. >That tagged guy, is he strong?<

Nina explained: "The guys that came to our hospital may be lackeys of Mr. Adriano, but he couldn't blow a single clean hit. I'm certain those guys are B-grade or a higher rank."

That sounded almost worth his time. Good. He stood up and grabbed his sword to fasten it to his belt.

"I'll join you a bit later", Worick informed him. "Need to tie up some loose ends first. Got it, Nic?"

Nicolas snorted in derision. He took the bottles of pills and put them into his pockets, with the same movement he took his phone out. >You'll have to buy me lunch for this.< He went out the door and read the message from Marshall: yes and no. it's complicated

What about dating was complicated? It wasn't necessarily easy, but those two things weren't the same. Nicolas replied: you should do what feels good to you, what you want to do. that's how I live

If it meant, Marshall didn't want to be with him, Nicolas could understand that. Wasn't like he felt undying love for the other man and he was sure to find someone else to fuck, if he so desired, also probably someone who was easier to handle.

Nina followed him quickly and took his hand, as they walked down the alley. A couple of houses down, she halted her steps and looked back.

>What's wrong?<

"… Something just happened", she said.

Nicolas took an educated guess about what she meant. Worick must be tying up his loose ends right about now. >But I didn't hear anything. You're just imagining things<, he told her. Curious, that they followed her here.

She smiled awkwardly. "You couldn't do it from the very beginning, Nico …" After a second she added, "Nope, nothing's wrong. Let's go. Doctor Theo should be tired of waiting by now."

No wonder, the Doctor had no patience. >Next time, when you decide to come to play, don't carry any dead weights with you<, he explained to her. But that meant, whoever had it out for the Doc was serious.

"What?"

>Nothing.<

* * *

As they came around the corner to Dr. Theo's clinic, which didn't really deserve the term clinic, they saw a group of half a dozen men standing at the door. One of them was Dr. Theo himself and he was arguing with the intruders, his eyes tiredly looking over his glasses. Another one was a huge black man, by guess 6'5" tall with a broad back and bulging muscles. He seemed to be the boss of the group, probably himself just an errand-boy to whoever wanted to mess with the good Doctor.

Dr. Theo greeted laid back. "Hello guys. Sorry for disturbing you on your day off, Benriya. Is the other guy slacking off?"

Nina was hiding at Nicolas's side, wary of the intruders.

>My pal's gonna come later. If you need another job done, tell him.< He didn't care to lip-read the shouts of the intruders. Who cared what they had to say?

"D-Didn't I tell you, not to come again?", Nina said, still clinging to his side. "Don't be a hindrance to Dr. Theo anymore!" She had courage, some.

There was commotion in the group of men trying to get a hold of their friends no doubt. But Worick had already killed them all. Nicolas gathered enough to know, whatever these guys' plans had been, it was falling apart quick.

The black man grabbed the one with the bad news by his face and slammed his head into a nearby wall. Blood. He turned around to Nicolas and said: "Looks like you took real good care of 'em, Benriya! I've heard the rumors. Rumors of some tagged Asian dude on 8th street and he turns out to be a teeny midget!"

Asshole!

"Anyway", the black man continued. He grabbed the chain around his neck to show off his dog tags. The rank said B/2. That would be a nice distraction. "Let's bring it on, bro. I'll just have to put on a good show for the sake of my subordinates."

An idiot as well. Nicolas checked his phone, no new messages yet. Then he turned to Dr. Theo and asked: "Your orders, Doc?"

Dr. Theo took a long zig from his cigarette. "Hmm, do as you like. But make sure Insepctor Chad's bunch don't have to clean up afterwards, okay? And don't let Miss Nina get a single wound, else I'll kill you." That Nicolas believed, no doubt.

He took a few steps toward the B/2. From his back pocket he retrieved his own dog tags to show off his own rank: A/0. The shock on the tall man's face was delicious. They all underestimated him at first glance, their own fault. Nicolas put the chain around his neck again, where it belonged. B/2 was nice, but not too strong and Dr. Theo said, he could do as he liked. How to have fun with this?

Nicolas readjusted the position of his sword. One end of the band tying it to his belt he loosened and tied it around the hilt of the sword as well. When it was secure and couldn't be easily unsheathed anymore, he looked to the black man and held up three fingers.

Dr. Theo translated: "He says, just three minutes." A short hand gesture winked Nina to him. "Let me tell you something, it seems you're lucky, because that guy is jealous and pissed by your hearing ability. So he's handicapping himself to restrain his actions. You're an easy opponent for him."

This talking would go nowhere. Nicolas extended his index and beckoned the B/2 to come at him.

Gritting his teeth angrily, the big man did. He charged at him, ready for a wide punch of his massive fist. "You take me for a wuss?!"

But Nicolas jumped up and out of reach, while the fist buried itself into the asphalt. A kick to the black man's face, that send him down and made his nose bleed. Nicolas easily landed a few yards away.

"I don't even need three seconds!", the B/2 threatened and grabbed the pole of a street sign. "I'll smash your head and turn it to minced meat!" But with easy feet, Nicolas dodged the assault. Throwing around a pole like that was only desperate, that's what a hot temper did to you. After a couple of bouts like this, the B/2 was out of breath. "You son of a bitch! You're just recklessly moving around!"

Recklessly? Idiot. A fight needed more than a fist.

"Hey! He, Benriya!", Dr. Theo called out to him. "It's fine to have some fun, but don't let that savage run amok. He will wreck my hospital. I won't tolerate-", he interrupted himself.

Interrupted himself? He did say, Nicolas could do as he liked. No backsies now. A cold suspicion ran through his spine. He turned around to the panting idiot, but too late. The pole caught him fully and sent him flying. Ouch.

The pole speared itself into the wall of Dr. Theo's clinic.

"Haaa! You were looking the other way so … Sorry, I couldn't go easy on you. Yeah, that's it … die …" Another moment of shock on the man's face.

Because Nicolas landed on his feet. As if barbaric strength like this could throw him down.

Suddenly Dr. Theo grabbed his shirt and tried to ram a syringe into him. >Doc … Doctor, Doctor, can we save this for later?<, he signed with one hand, the other trying to fend off the syringe. >And you know that I ain't guilty. He crushed the wall! Don't point the needle at me.< He hated needles and the Doctor knew it.

"Shut up!", Dr. Theo yelled at him. "This wouldn't have happened if you had ended it quickly. Die! I'll eviscerate that three inch midget's body of yours and kill you!"

The B/2 charged toward the both of them, another metal rod in his hands. Face contorted in anger. "Cut the crap! I've had enough with the two of you! You shitty monkey and bush-doctor, you hear me!"

Some people just didn't know when to stay down.

With a fast hand movement Nicolas unsheathed his sword and cut the rod in half. "Three minutes are over!", he informed using his voice. Fear grew in the other man's eyes. "Can you handle this shit? Even if I crush your head, turn it into minced meat and do you in?" Sword in hand, a grin on his face. Now they would have some fun.

The muscular man turned on his heels and climbed up a fire escape. Idiot.

Nicolas sheathed his sword again, then took a step and jumped up, another jump from the sidewall of the building. Now he was high enough to cut downward on the B/2 and send him back to the ground. The man landed painfully on his back, a gush across his torso bleeding.

Nicolas landed on his feet next to him and also next to Worick and Alex, who must have arrived just now.

"Yo Nic, thanks for your hard work, buddy." Worick looked at the B/2 for a long moment. "Oh my … Why did you overdo it? What if he kicks the bucket?"

>He's not gonna drop dead at his level. A B/2 is sturdier than this.< And if he wasn't, well, his own fault then. >Chad?<

Worick shook his head. "He's already contacted. Screw that! You overdid it with showing off again!", he reprimanded him anyway. Then he kneeled beside the wounded man. "Level B/2, huh? This was unexpected. Such a high level guy was used and wasted just to nab Doctor Theo's business. I wonder which rich pig's organization is responsible."

Nicolas would care about that, when his sword was needed again. Until then, he had other matters to attend to. A look to his phone, another message from Marshall had come in: I already do what I want, usually only leads to more trouble

He smiled at that amused. Some people thrived on trouble, others didn't. Nicolas was sure, they both were rather similar in this regard. They needed their lives to provide some thrill in order to find it livable. They weren't normal people, no reason to pretend otherwise. He replied: then don't half-ass it. do what's right for you. trouble's there to be dealt with, not to bow down to

Worick looked at him questioningly and pointed to the phone. "Texting your sexfriend again? I'm surprised that is still going on. Did you finally hit puberty and develop a steady sex drive? Good for you, buddy." The grin indicated a joke.

Their respective attitudes toward sex were fundamentally different. Worick wasn't very selective with who he slept with, as long as the woman was attractive to him. Nicolas on the other hand was selective, being an attractive man was easy enough to manage these days, but there were other things to consider as well, like that their personalities didn't clash adversely or that their preferences in sexual activities overlapped enough. Only rarely did he go out for something quick, if his needs grew too impatient.

Usually, this annoyed him more than the subsequent sex act relieved his needs, this time though he was rather pleased with the raw diamond he had stumbled upon. After their night last week, Nicolas was absolutely sure he could satisfy his desires with Marshall in very substantial ways. On his phone was still the photo of the man absorbed with sensual bliss and eager to live out his lewd pleasures. Nicolas looked at it every night and every time his blood boiled with lust again. Sadly, the backlash to their night had been severe. Deep in Marshall rooted a fear, perhaps hatred against himself and as pointless as Nicolas found this, there was not an easy solution to it. He had seen a lot of broken people in his life, these things rarely had one cause and even more rarely would be repaired by kindness. Gaming the system by being a nice person wouldn't do here, that might work against shyness, but this was a whole different beast. Nicolas wasn't the right person to help Marshall.

Another text message came in: what I want ain’t the right thing, that's the fucking problem

Nicolas cocked his head. That sentence was more evidence for Marshall's self-hatred. Hard to answer without knowing any of the details. Understandably, the man didn't share exactly what he hated himself for, if it was even possible to convey this with words. Nicolas doubted that. He replied: if it is what you want, then it's the right thing for you. after all, you have to live your life, not anybody else, so no one else gets a say in what is right for you or not. you decide

It did serve him, that he read so much. Sometimes there were words and sentiments on the pages, that could be employed in a helpful manner like this. Personally, Nicolas didn't ask what was right or wrong, he didn't have the luxury of such philosophical qualms. And for the few moments he had cared about this question, it hadn't done him any good.

A smack to the back of his head. Startled he looked up and into Inspector Chad's disgruntled face. Great, the police was here …

The B/2 was being loaded into the police car.

"How many times", the officer started his rant, "need I to repeat myself to make you understand? Don't cause unnecessary injuries or deaths and don't damage any buildings! When you’re fighting with a tagged guy, do it someplace we, the police, can monitor! Man, I keep saving your asses only to find out that you're involved in yet another mess?!" Now his face turned red from all the yelling. "Hey! Don't you have anything to say? Nicolas! Worick!"

Nicolas rubbed the back of his head, where the inspector's fist had hit him. >I said I was sorry! So don'tcha use your fists on us, man!<

Worick held his bleeding nose. "Mr. Chad, having problems with your wife? Is that why you're in such a bad mood?" He rarely took things seriously, or showed when he did.

"That's irrelevant!" Inspector Chad didn't take well to Worick's quip. "You moron! Do you want to be tied to a patrol car and dragged around the city?!"

Would serve Worick right.

* * *

Feet tied down to the seat of his chair, Nicolas did some crunches following his training routine. The chain of his dog tags was wrapped around his wrist, so it wouldn't bother him. Near his head lay his phone. Since they had started to officially date each other, his phone was always near him in case the man texted or Nicolas had something to text. The latter wasn't as common, but he tried to regularly find something of at least mild interest to send. From the many romance books he had read - he didn't care about genres much - he knew that a constantly open channel of communication was important and should be regularly used. Not overused, just used to indicate a point of contact.

Alex came down the stairs. "S-Sorry … for interrupting."

He just looked at her for a moment, then continued with his training.

Meanwhile she went out of his sight to the corner of the room with the kitchen. Fine by him. The display of his phone lit up and therefore was more important anyway. The message read: what if the right thing for me would be to break up with you?

Nicolas got the strong impression, Marshall had a tendency to obsess over things. Severely obsess over things. He probably was thinking too much about all of this, digging himself deeper into whatever was eating away at him. How to combat this via text messages? He replied: is it though? wouldn't you have broken up with me weeks ago, if this really was the case?

He wouldn't argue that with all probability Marshall was right and the best thing to do for the man was to not be involved with Nicolas. Not because of anything Marshall did or didn't do, but because Nicolas wasn't the best person to be around. He knew that. After all, he understood why Veronica had needed to leave them. He had cut off one of her arms and they had been rather brutal and violent with each other, despite and because of how much they had loved each other. If she had stayed, they both probably wouldn't be alive anymore. Not that it had saved her.

The image of her weak, rotting body faded into his mind. Only clinging to life because of machines, not because she had any will to live left. Next time they had a delivery for Big Mama, Worick could do that alone. Nicolas wouldn't go in there again.

Another message came in: I should've

but you didn't, Nicolas replied immediately with the obvious observation. It was clear to him, Marshall didn't want to break up with him. He had the suspicion, Marshall had a hard time breaking up with just about anyone, not him specifically. The man wanted to be in a relationship, he needed to spend time with the people he loved to feel good. Not only did his face light up when he saw Nicolas, but also when he spent time with his friends, as Nicolas had been able to observe a few times. A very human quality and Nicolas didn't fault him for it. In all likelihood, there would be someone else out there, who was a better fit for Marshall and would be able to give him the loving, supportive, sociable relationship he needed and perhaps this would ease some of the pain the man harbored. That's what he should do.

But Nicolas also was sure, Marshall rarely did what an objective point of view would label a wise decision. Because such wise decisions usually made life boring and dull and in the end, Marshall wasn't build for that.

After a few more crunches and a short look to see, that indeed Alex was still in the kitchen and washing the dishes for some mystery reason, the display of his phone lit up again. The message read: but I should. I should end it, now. for both our sakes

This wasn't going anywhere. Text messages were a good medium to keep the channel of communication open, but it wasn't the best medium to discuss a serious topic or even solve a serious problem. Nicolas replied: wanna meet?

He really would like to know, why the man was so adamant about this at this point in time. Usually an objection or two was enough for him to drop this, at least for a couple of days. Now he was rather persistent. Something must've happened that threw their relationship into question, maybe even more for Marshall. As far as Nicolas knew, the man hadn't totally come to terms with his homosexuality yet. Another thing he himself thought of as pointless, but people led different lives and considering the bottomless well of sad stories that seemed to be Marshall's life, there might be good reason for the man to act this way. Who knew?

What could make the man withdraw this strongly? Because even though he didn't seem sold on the idea of a gay relationship, he clearly was trying to warm up to it. Apparently he had found the good kind of therapy, that worked by affirmation and acceptance. What would be strong enough to undo all the work he had done so far?

Marshall's answer came in: no, you only lull me in and make me forget why this is bad

Nicolas chuckled at this very astute assumption. Of course this was his goal, he wanted to stay in their relationship and go further with it, after all. His lesson for Marshall to give up his control over himself wasn't completed yet. He only had learned that he needed more finesse and perhaps subtlety. Nicolas replied: can you fault me for trying?

While waiting for the next answer, he decided to abandon his training for now. Constant interruptions like these weren't conducive to the purpose of his training, although most of the purpose was to not be bored. With Marshall texting him, he wasn't bored.

Nicolas unfastened his feet from the binding around the chair and stretched his limbs for a few moments. He realized, Alex was drying off the dishes. Briefly he frowned about this. With his phone firmly in his hands, he left the area to the small room in the back, the bathroom. He needed a shower.

Marshall's text came in: I don't get you

That was entirely Marshall's own fault. Nicolas was as straightforward, clear and honest as he possibly could be. If the man didn't believe his words, that was totally on Marshall himself. Nicolas replied: what's there not to get? I want you, it's as easy as that

He had just shed off his clothes, as the answer came in: yeah, I don't get that. ain't like you're a fan or groupie or some shit

Nicolas raised his eyebrows, as he read the message. A little more ego wouldn't hurt the man. He responded: seriously, what happened? did you have a fall-back to last week? He sat down on the closed toilet seat waiting for the answer. This started to be really worrisome and needed to be handled immediately and carefully.

As it finally came in, Marshall's message read: my ex-wife. she was here for the girls yesterday. we had a fight

Presumably not much of a surprise, this seemed to happen to enough divorced people as far as the media was concerned. Nicolas had no first hand experience with a situation like this, but he knew Marshall and his ex-wife had a rather strained relationship. At least if his songs were anything to go by. The two of them didn't talk about her and Nicolas thought, he didn't need to be interested in the story. Well, evidently he had been wrong about that. He answered: I'm assuming, the fight had something to do with us? Why else would Marshall's reaction to a fight with his ex-wife be to have second thoughts on Nicolas?

Did she find out, her ex-husband was gay? He supposed, she wouldn't like this fact, pure conjecture on his part. As far as media went, which was his only source for how regular people acted in life, this would be a rather heated topic and maybe lead her to feel invalidated or offended. Sure, the realization one might've only been used as a cover-up Nicolas could understand to hurt and enrage. He wouldn't take lightly to that either. Then again, what right did he have to cry foul on anything? If Worick so ordered, he would have to follow, it was as simple as that.

Marshall’s next answer arrived: she threatened to take my daughters away

That was certainly an overreaction. It was as plain as day how much Marshall loved and cared for his children. How was his sex life of any importance to that? Puzzled for a moment, Nicolas scratched his neck. Then he cursed himself for his obliviousness. He hadn't to care about this, but people had all kinds of reservations and superstitions about homosexual people, or just about anything they didn't like. Hate was a strong motivator to find excuses. He replied: that won't happen, not on my watch. I take care of her

Nicolas turned on the shower, but before he could get one droplet of water on his body, his phone lit up again. Marshall had texted: NO! fuck no, don't do that!

It was the obvious solution to his problem, but if the man wanted to do it the hard way, so be it. Nicolas answered: fine, I won't. tell me, when you change your mind

Then he stepped under the warm water and washed his body quickly. If this was the ex-wife's fault, he could take a few minutes to clean himself up. Also take the time to think about how to remedy the situation. If Marshall's hesitation about their relationship was only founded on some stupid remarks by his ex-wife, it should be fairly easily possible to get them back on track. Whatever she had said probably had only reminded Marshall about why he had his misgivings in the first place, but that wasn't necessarily a reinforcement. He had overcome them to a degree already, Nicolas needed to remind him of that and how much Marshall benefitted from embracing himself, instead of denying who he was. In that, their goals overlapped.

As he stepped out from the shower, a new message had arrived already: I won't! don't do anything to her, aight?

I promise, Nicolas replied and sighed. What a shame though, she kind of deserved it. He added to his message: don't let her get to you. if she can't take you like you are, she never deserved you in the first place A little cornier than he liked, but Marshall responded quite well to sentences like this. In the end, the sentiment was true, why obscure it by phrasing it edgy on purpose? No use in that.

Nicolas toweled his body off and slipped into fresh pants.

A new message came in: you're right. she ain't the boss of me anymore. I'm the guy who doesn't give a fuck! I certainly don't give a fuck if she thinks I'm wrong or whatever

Interesting turn of phrase. He wondered for a moment, if Marshall was aware of his tendency to be subservient. One would assume, people were aware of these kinds of things about themselves, but considering how repressive the man was against himself, he might not. Nicolas hadn't had the opportunity yet to watch Marshall in varying different social circumstances, so there might still lay surprises ahead. But as far as he could tell, toward people he trusted Marshall was easy to relent. Despite his own words the man cared deeply and with devotion, sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice. He wanted to be of use to the people around him.

Which Nicolas had no problem exploiting. He hated to serve someone. Now being self-employed, he only had to take orders from Worick, that he could manage. That was only right. Being on the other side however, ordering someone else around, he liked the feeling quite a lot, honestly. And it was rather irresistible to not make Marshall submit.

Nicolas answered: that's the spirit, kitten, you want to be with me and there's nothing wrong with that. she needs to keep her nose out of your business

When he left the bathroom and entered the main room of this floor again, Alex was gone from the kitchen area. Good. There was some prepared food under saran wrap on the counter.

The familiar vibration in his pocket, Marshall wrote: I do. fuck it if it's wrong


	35. Jealousy Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last day of November, Marshall and his friends meet at the club again. But all hell breaks loose when a random hook-up of Marshall's causes some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, again. Also, there's a bit of public sex in here.

Her hoarse scream echoed from the walls and her manicured nails scratched his scalp holding on to his short hair. A push, or a yank? Hard to follow a direction this conflicting, but she screamed again hoarsely. It send a pleased shiver over his skin. He could feel her body tremble underneath his fingertips where they touched her thighs.

Then shallow breathing filled the room. "Damn …" Her legs came down to rest on his shoulders again, all their weight on him and with careful hands he laid them back on the bed. Marshall rubbed over his lips with his thumb as he looked up. A small smirk. He liked the sound of that. On his hands he crawled up to look into her face properly. The lipstick on her pouty lips was a little smeared and the golden glitter on her long lashes had rubbed off on her cheeks. Her honey brown eyes returned the look with a content smile. Probably, she was a nice looking girl, well, woman he assumed, under all that make-up. Make-up made everyone look nice, even him, so that wasn't anything to judge somebody by. But that wasn't of interest right now anyway. He needed to know if she had liked just now and judging by that smile, she undoubtedly had. Then he had done this right. Good.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, a seductive bite to his ear. Was she learning what he liked? "Let me show you my gratitude."

Marshall shook his head and sat up. "I'm fine." Wasn't like this turned him on. _You're too gay for your own good, fag, eating out a fine pussy like hers and all you can think about is sucking dick. All you think about. _"You might wanna touch up", she wouldn't pick up many clients if she looked already spent. They all knew, what she was, but the illusion usually was supposed to be the opposite. Then he climbed off the bed.

She stood up herself and pulled her skirt with the golden floral pattern into position. It matched the floral lines of the bed covers well. On Purpose?

"What's your name anyway?", he asked. _What's it to you? You won't remember._

The smile on her lips deepened, he wasn't sure with what. "Call me Iris."

He tilted his head.

"It's the name of a flower", she explained and pulled a small mirror from her purse.

That made sense. "Seems to be a theme here."

She smiled amused and corrected her make-up. "It's better than Chastity or Purity, don't you think?"

A small chuckle left him. "That's true. I always find that off-putting."

Now with her appearance back in order, she took a step toward him and swiveled her hips while she did so. "You seem more relaxed now, up for enjoying the evening?" A seductive flutter of her eyelashes. "Maybe I can show you my gratitude later?" _Hell yeah, let's pollinate her flower!_

"I doubt that, but sure." Briefly he shrugged with his shoulders and laid an arm around her waist. "I was planning on having a nice evening with my friends, so there's that."

"Sounds perfect."

With his arm not leaving her waist, they left the room and went down the stairs. Mellow sounds dominated the main floor of the club. On this night again, the busty singer stood on _Bastard's_ stage and sang. This time she wore a short, black dress and it was just as unable to rein in her goods. While he watched her for a moment, Marshall remembered that she was a friend of Nicolas's and even lived with him. Was a figure like hers tempting for the man? _Jealous? Would serve you right. Look, what you just did, slut._ Even if not, was she trying to tempt him? More importantly maybe, was his other roommate slash best friend slash gigolo equally good-looking? Marshall didn't know much about him, not even his name, he just realized. That was odd …

He wiped the thoughts from his mind and after a quick exchange with a staff member he found the table in their name. Ryan and Denaun were already seated and provided for with drinks. So, Marshall and the petite blonde in his arm walked over to them. A short greeting as he sat himself down, she leaned close to his side.

"You found company quick?", Ryan asked, but his gaze was fixed on the girl.

Marshall shrugged. "So? I came here early, needed to blow off some steam."

Ryan furrowed his brows deeper. "Thought, you'd been all good since … last we talked." _You ain't never good, bitch, just bad and a little less bad._

"Kim found stuff to bitch about", he muttered annoyed by the memory. Would not be the last time the two of them clashed, didn't mean it was particularly thrilling when it happened. That they spent this night at _Bastard's_ of all places was actually a blessing in disguise. You could just grab a girl if you needed to, nobody said anything. _There's plenty to say about that. Let me start with, you don't deserve any of these girls, fag._

"Didn't hear that name in a while", Denaun stated. "Can't say I was sad about that."

Marshall shrugged. "Me neither, but it's that time of the year again." On the one hand he liked these holidays at the end of the year, but on the other hand it meant he had to spend time with her. And at the moment, it felt almost unbearable.

The petite blonde played with the pendant of his chain. "Maybe tonight you'll give me that dance, hm? That'll be more amusing."

"Maybe", he gave in and stroked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Ryan cleared his throat, a doubtful, disapproving look on his face.

"You got something to say?", Marshall bristled. There was no reason for his friend to give him this attitude right now. _No reason? What about you sucking his dick? What about your boyfriend? What about you being gay? What about you liking her dress more than her? There's plenty reason._

"You know that without me saying anything", Ryan replied sharply.

Marshall huffed annoyed and in a biting tone he said: "Ain't my fault your mistress ain't on your call tonight. Don't mean, I can't have fun."

"It's a Tuesday night, other people have to work", Ryan defended his mistress and her canceling their date.

Marshall just shrugged to that. He hated what usually counted as a work schedule. As much as he was a creature of habit and tried to fit his studio hours into a more normal 9-to-5 routine, that didn't vibe all that well with his creativity. It was more a way to spend as much time as possible with his daughters, that he worked like this. When they weren't home, he wasn't home and when they were, he would be as well.

"Don't you have Nicolas to have fun with?", Ryan pressed on harshly.

"What's it to you?", Marshall asked back. "You don't think that's much fun anyway."

Ryan nodded grimly. "And if you need her, then you don't think of it as much fun, either." _He got a point there, little gay looking boy. You had a fucking meltdown 'cause you have too much fun with him._

"Oh, now you know what's fun to me and what's not?" He sneered with a thick layer of sarcasm: "Sorry, next time I want fun, I call you first." _Why not? I'm sure he remembers how to fuck you good._

Denaun rolled his eyes. "Guys, save your jealous fits for your actual lovers. This is ridiculous."

Marshall snorted dismissive.

"Speaking of which", Ryan pointed out smugly and nodded toward the entrance.

Nicolas had entered the night club and walked directly to their table. As far as Marshall knew, his boyfriend didn't have to work tonight. Being self-employed had its perks like that. So probably had working as a handyman in the underworld. Marshall didn't really expect them to be up at seven o'clock in the morning.

As the man arrived at their table, a similar doubtful look settled on Nicolas's face as his friend had sported earlier. For a moment his scrutinizing look wandered around the table, but he sat down without a word next to Marshall. He laid an arm around Marshall's shoulders and pulled him a little closer.

The petite blonde on Marshall's other side raised an eyebrow questioningly; he squeezed her waist reassuringly for her to stay.

_You doing what I think you're doing? I'm all for it, a threesome's always a great way to spend the night, slut._

Ryan still showed the smug grin and made a short hum, probably meaning something along the lines of: See, I told you.

Marshall flipped his friend off. He had absolutely nothing to say about a situation like this, not one word. Also, this wasn't much of a situation at all. A hooker sat next to him, that wasn't a crime, that was her fucking job.

Directing his question to Nicolas, Denaun leaned forward: "You're alone? Kitten said, you'll bring your friends tonight. I'm really curious." In all likelihood he only wanted to wring out an introduction to that singer lady. He really had an eye out for the busty woman. Nothing on Nicolas said, he would have interesting friends.

Marshall rolled his eyes at the nickname he couldn't get rid off.

But Nicolas didn't bother to reply, instead he turned to Marshall with a smirk. >Did you? Are you using hanging out with your friends as an excuse for your own curiosity? I see right through you, ice princess.< Nicolas had made sure to teach him 'ice princess' in ASL. Another nickname Marshall couldn't get rid off.

>I'm not responsible for their …<, he thought a moment what the sign for stupid was. It was easy but not obvious … Right, the peace sign at your forehead. >… stupidity. That's all on them, don't drag me into this.<

"You're really making an effort, huh?", Ryan observed, his tone half amused and half something darker.

Marshall tilted his head with question.

In a general motion Ryan gestured at him. "It's admirable how you learn stuff to impress your crush. So much effort." _Oh, he didn't just say that, fucker! Go, get your fist out, bitch!_

Marshall bit down hard, he felt his teeth grating against each other. This was not a compliment, but an attack. An underhanded one at that, using their friendship for it. How did he deserve this? What had he done wrong now? "Maybe you should try that for your wife. I'm sure she'd appreciate a little effort from you, that can go a long way." The hand on his shoulder was gently caressing him, a reminder that Nicolas was here, with him. That was comforting.

"Communication is key", Nicolas said out loud, his eyes piercing through Ryan. "So is respect for your partner and their preferences."

Denaun stepped in: "I think it's pretty cool. Talking with your hands, that's a pretty cool concept, don't you think?"

"It is …", Marshall answered slowly and he had a hard time refocusing his eyes on Denaun. "It's a different language. Sometimes it's totally mind-boggling how ASL expresses things, very different than English does."

"That must be hard to learn", the petite blonde said. "I once took Spanish in high school, just learning to say new words is hard."

Marshall shrugged. "I like language." The more differences he found between the two languages, the more excited he got about learning it. If he would've known that earlier about himself, he might've started learning languages as a kid. That probably would make things easier.

Denaun snickered warm. "I can so see that: You sitting in your kitchen, glasses on and poring over a textbook in one hand, a notepad in the other. All scribbled over in that chicken scratch of yours."

Marshall knew, that wasn't far away from the truth and described most of his nights these days rather accurately. You didn't learn a language from slacking off, you really needed to dedicate your time to it. Although he still missed a lot, when Nicolas signed, he usually got the gist of things and his own signing was coming along as well. He was quite pleased with his progress.

"You have glasses?", the petite blonde asked. "That's pretty sexy. Why don't you wear them now?"

"Nah", he lightly shook his head.

"Next, you start rapping like that", Denaun joked on and made some mocking hand gestures, as if he were to use sign language.

Marshall snickered on that. "Why not? It's pretty awesome, ASL rapping, you should check it out." There were some videos of that on the internet. If he had some time to analyze all the little movements, he not only learned a lot about ASL but also appreciated the art behind it. It was a different way of expression, but skillful nonetheless.

A waiter came to their table and Marshall wanted to order a coke, however, Nicolas signing his own order interrupted him, now that he understood. His boyfriend ordered for the both of them. Marshall raised an eyebrow about that, then shrugged. What was the difference? His friends already knew he was gay and in a relationship with a man, a girly drink wouldn't make it worse. _My words exactly!_

Of course it really was the red drink that landed in front of him as the waiter came back with their order. Marshall had suspected as much.

"Hey, you know what you get your kids for Christmas yet?", Ryan asked out of the blue, question clearly directed at Marshall.

Who was by all accounts surprised about the question. That turn was sharp as a razor. "What now?" Was this another attack and he just didn't get it?

"It ain't even December yet, dude", threw Denaun in.

"By a day", Ryan dismissed. "I got five kids, that takes time, you know."

Denaun shook his head. "Two of them barely walk, they don't care what you get them."

Ryan grumbled in response: "Doesn't make it easier." He looked to Marshall. "So? You done any shopping yet?"

Denaun sighed heavy.

"Some", Marshall shrugged. He felt a little sympathy for Denaun, who didn't have kids and sometimes got bored with these conversations. "But it's low key at our house, they never get big presents or anything. Some DVDs or stuff like that, that's enough." He wanted Christmas to be about the sentiment first and the presents second. Love wasn't anything you could buy, but with a thoughtful gift you could show your affection. On top of that, he didn't want to spoil them too much. Just because they had more than enough money to fulfill every single one of their wishes, didn't mean that was a good parenting style. He wanted them to grow into well-adjusted and responsible people; not spoiled rich brats.

"Of course it shouldn't be too big", Ryan nodded in agreement. "But DVDs? That's a bit too small …"

Marshall cocked his head. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know what to get them", he stated the obvious. "Especially Trenton."

"Ask him." Wasn't that just as obviously the solution? Marshall didn't really see why this was so hard.

Ryan leaned back, his nose crinkled. "I can't just ask him."

"Why not? How else'll you know, what he wants? Or the others." Marshall really found this to be blatantly obvious. "Let them make a list and you get them, what seems appropriate. That's what I do." Mostly. If he stumbled upon something, that was just perfect for one of his daughters, he wouldn't say no.

"You do that?", Ryan asked surprised. "Don't you kinda just know what they want? You're their father, after all, and you're really good at that."

Marshall snorted amused. "I can't read minds, dumbass. Their kids, they have a different idol every week, I can't keep up with that. Believe me, I have better things to do than to update on the newest gossip." Occasionally it was fun to listen to them, when they tried to explain to him the latest developments of school intrigue. But he couldn't be bothered to remember for long. Not everything in their lives was of utmost importance, however much he loved them.

"Huh."

* * *

This really was a classy night club, Marshall thought as he dried his hands with a paper towel. An embossed paper towel, it showed the _Bastard's_ logo. This was some heavy attention to detail.

He left the restroom and headed back to his friends. There was commotion at their table. Why? He was too far away to be sure. Ryan and Nicolas had clashed, so much was evident. Both standing, the other's shirt grabbed, their faces close in threat, fists ready to punch. Denaun next to them, talking at them. So was an employee of the club, wearing a dark suit like all of them.

Finally Marshall came close enough, the first person of which he understood a statement was his boyfriend. Nicolas signed: >He started it!<

The employee rebuked: "That is not of importance", a stern expression on his face. A deep scar ran across the man's cheek bone, from the bridge of his nose to his right ear.

"You better fuck off!", Ryan snarled in a dark tone. "You hear me? Leave him alone!" Not the best choice of words toward a deaf person.

Nicolas raised his middle finger in response. Always a gesture easy to understand.

Ryan punched the smaller man in the nose. But Nicolas grabbed the other man's head and butted his forehead into the face. Now, both noses were bleeding.

"What's going on here?", Marshall asked bewildered. How had this happened?

The employee pulled forcefully at Nicolas and with the help of Denaun was able to separate the men, barely. But he now stood between the two and scolded Nicolas. "Miss Christiano won't be pleased. Even when you're here as a guest, you need to retain manners."

Denaun shrugged as he answered Marshall: "One moment they talk, next moment they fight. What do I know?" Only slowly and tentatively did he loosen his grip on Ryan.

"You were here", Marshall replied reproachful. "You should've held them off."

"How?", Denaun asked, "I ain't their fucking babysitter. That's your job."

The employee turned toward them now. "I'm very sorry Mr. Brown disturbed your evening. We will make sure, this won't impede your enjoyment of our establishment."

Marshall waved the apology aside. "It's fine, man, don't worry. We did invite him, so it's partially our fault, ain't it. Nothing's impeded, I'm sure." He threw an angry look at his friend and at his boyfriend respectively and added: "And I'm also sure they gonna kiss and make up now. Won't you, guys?" His tone shut down any backtalk. With three kids, you needed that tone in your arsenal.

The two squabblers glared at each other defiantly, daring the other to break first.

But before one of them could loose their silent fight, there was more commotion in the club. This time at the entrance. They all turned around.

A woman and a man had entered the club, they exuded an aura of danger and trouble. The woman wore a black coat and underneath a mini dress, which hugged her buxom figure tightly. The smile on her face was disturbing. The tall man grinned just as menacingly. Tanned skin, blonde hair, a tattoo on his left arm.

Marshall sucked in air. Striker. Fuck.

"Spas!", Striker called out, "Let's play!"

The _Bastard's_ employee with the scar cursed under his breath. "Nicolas, help secure the guests", he ordered immediately and went toward the newcomers. "You don't need to do this, Striker. We can settle this peacefully."

Striker laughed briefly, threateningly. "We could, but I don't want to." Then something else caught his eye as he was looking at, apparently, Spas. "Nice. When I'm done with you, I know how I'm gonna celebrate. Yo, Shady!", he called clearly out to someone else, to someone behind Spas, "You still owe me that blowjob."

To Marshall. Who felt the first icicles of dread form in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck", he whispered. Instantly his hand shot up to his neck, where the man had grabbed him hard a few weeks ago. Eight to be exact. Fifty-six days to be more exact.

Striker grinned pleased at the reaction. "You remember me, great."

"Who's that?", Ryan asked in a low, angry voice. His face showed, he already had a pretty good guess.

Nicolas's hand squeezed Marshall's shoulder firmly. >He won't hurt you again<, he promised with a serious expression. Not a second later, he had left his side and stormed past the employee named Spas, rushing toward Striker.

"Nicolas!", Spas yelled in warning, but too late.

Nicolas's fist connected with Striker's face and send the tall man almost to the ground. But Striker was quickly back in balance. "You little shit!", he growled, aiming for a punch himself. Without effort, Nicolas jumped out of the way and up, his hands on his hip, where his sword should be. But it wasn't there. In the fraction of a second he repurposed his jump and rammed his foot into Striker's face, kicking the tall man across the room. Tables toppled. Drinks spilled. Glass broke.

"Brown!", someone else yelled in warning. "Stop it! You can't!"

A panic broke out. High pitched screaming, people rushed from their seats and ran for safety, but orientation was lost. The employees of the club came forward, trying hard to calm down the guests and to show them the way to the doors.

Nicolas attacked Striker again, but this time the hit didn't land. On the contrary, he was himself thrown into a wall. It cracked.

"Nicolas!", Marshall cried out, finally breaking his stupor and wanting to rush to his boyfriend. But two strong arms held him back, more they tried to pull him away, to safety presumably. As if he cared for that! He tried to break away from them.

"Don't! Are you crazy?", Ryan said with alarm about the display of strength from the two men.

Denaun warned: "You can't head in there! That's insane." Shock in his eyes at how immediate the level of violence had risen high.

But Marshall had to go! Nicolas fought for him, of course he had to help. Especially since Nicolas fought without his sword, clearly his weapon of choice. Which wasn't here because of Marshall, because he had told his boyfriend not to walk around with a real fucking sword in public. Now Nicolas was without any weapon against someone strong, someone with two clubs. This was his fault.

His muscles tensed and his blood was boiling. Still he fought against the grip his friends had on him. Finally, Marshall pulled free.

"Striker!", the _Bastard's_ employee with the scar yelled. From the watch on his wrist he pulled three fine wires. "Leave, now!" The two men locked in their fight.

Before Marshall could reach his boyfriend, who he wanted desperately to be near, a tall black man with broad shoulders and dreadlocks stood in his way like an unmoving mountain. From his attire clearly an employee of the club. "Sir, you need to head for safety. This can get ugly."

"But Nicolas", Marshall started a sentence he didn't know how to finish. He didn't need to finish. But Nicolas! His eyes tried to find his boyfriend, but couldn't see past the mountain of a man. His fists clenched helplessly in agitation.

"Don't worry about him. Now go."

Ryan pulled at his arm again. "He's right, Nicolas clearly can fight for himself. Come, let's go!" A dark gleam of fear on his face by the eruption of brutality all around them.

"This ain't a normal bar fight, dude. We can't butt in in that!" Denaun had followed him just the same. Eyes equally wide at the abrupt shift toward carnage in the club.

From behind the broad back of the man appeared Nicolas. There was a laceration bleeding from his brow, otherwise he looked ruffled but unharmed. >It's okay. Go! I take care of this<, he told Marshall.

"The hell you will!", he yelled, voice raw. "That shithead ain't worth the trouble. Or your blood." His heart beat loudly and fast, pushing his own blood through his arteries and melting his insides with heat.

A tremor went through the building as the fight between Striker and Spas exchanged particularly hard blows. Furniture was scattered across the room, glass had fallen and broken on the floor. The employees still worked their best, to move all guests out of harms way.

The employee in front of him gripped Nicolas by the back of his shirt and lifted him easily off the ground. "You did enough, Brown. Nothing but trouble with you."

Nicolas stuck out his tongue at the man, looking even more childish than the gesture usually was.

"So, you're the little manwhore that stood him up?", said a smooth feminine voice behind them. Striker's escort.

Goose bumps rose on his hot skin and Marshall swiveled around. "I ain't little, you bitch. Fuck off!", he growled at her dark.

Unperturbed she sized him up, then she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He could do so much better. What's the fun in breaking toys that are already broken?" As a warning she let her whip crack in the air. "Be a good little whore and save your energy. You'll need it later."

Marshall bared his teeth. "Fuck off!", he growled again. His muscles were taut, almost tearing and he breathed heavily. He threw a punch against her face, pleased when his fist connected with her jaw. As if he was one to easily back down.

Again, Denaun grabbed his shoulder, trying to get him away from all of this. "Let's go, man. Now! Dude, she got a whip!" His voice filled with gravity and urgency.

"Marshall, get a grip, man!", Ryan urged him, pulling him as well. "This's serious. Think of your kids." The only ace in his sleeve.

The woman touched her lips and looked in surprise at the blood on her fingertips. "Have you no decency? Hitting a woman like a Neanderthal." She clearly was mocking him. This time, her whip was meant for him.

But Nicolas intercepted it with his arm, where the thong coiled around it. His face was contorted in rage. From his other hand fell a small orange bottle, empty from the pills it had once contained. Then he rushed the woman, pushing her back with hard blows.

Marshall picked up the bottle, the label had Nicolas's name on it.

"Damned faker", the black man with the dreadlocks cursed. He hurried away, brass knuckles gleaming on his fists.

"What the fuck's going on here?", Ryan muttered under his breath. "Fine club, huh?", he huffed toward Denaun.

Marshall's eyes looked up from the label and found Nicolas, his eyes glued themselves on every move as his boyfriend was beating that fucking woman. A suspicion grew in him, that this was what Nicolas had held back from him. How much his boyfriend came alive in violence, something a couple scars and a mean grin couldn't tell in detail.

Denaun shrugged noncommittal. "What? It was. Until all hell broke loose."

A loud bang echoed through the building. A gun shot.

Marshall ducked down, so did his friends. Even the people fighting stopped their assaults. Everyone was looking up to where the shot had come from.

At the top of the stairs that led to the bedrooms stood a teenage girl with curly blond hair dressed in a white blouse, a brown skirt and a bowtie around her neck. She held a gun in her hand. "Enough!", she yelled with a stern face. "I won't tolerate any more chaos in my establishment."

* * *

Cars emptied out of the parking lot. All guests were leaving _Bastard's_ after the incident. Only the employees stayed to clean up the mess of broken furniture and spilled drinks the fight had left behind. No doubt the main room would be reconstructed immediately, so business could be back up and running as soon as possible. At least, that's what the manager assured them and every single guest would receive adequate compensation for the inconveniences tonight. Marshall would not have thought, the huge black man with the dreadlocks was actually the manager of the club. His jovial smile didn't fit that position well, if he was asked. But luckily he wasn't the boss of this establishment. Being boss was hard, anyway.

All of this was irrelevant.

Marshall leaned against the hood of his car, arms folded across his chest and watching with a deliberately stern expression how the cars left the parking lot. His heart was still beating hard and his skin was still hot from the blood rushing underneath. A stir like this always tore at his nerves. He tried to still his temper.

At the driver's side stood Big Eight, vigilant to what else might happen tonight, but waiting with thin patience for Marshall to get into the car. So that, finally, he could take his boss home and to safety.

"You guys should go", Marshall directed toward his friends, both were still here. His voice strained under the pressure to sound even and calm.

Ryan's breath was visible in the cold air as he spoke: "So should you."

"Besides, we ain't leaving any time soon", observed Denaun, a skeptical eye on the row of cars that queued at the exit of the parking lot. Something was halting the progress, that they couldn’t see. He stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.

"Still, go to your cars, warm up", Marshall insisted. They had already reached the first hours of December tonight and the first snow was already here.

But his friends stayed, where they were.

With a furrowed brow Marshall steered his gaze to Nicolas, who was standing close and inspected a tissue for signs, if his nose still bled or not. "What did you think you were doing?", he asked his boyfriend, his voice dropping into a grave whisper. His tension only showing itself in how his hands dug hard into his arms. "You could've seriously injured yourself. Or some bystander. Those two weren't fucking around, couldn't you see?"

>He hurt you<, Nicolas signed as if this explained anything.

A hot shiver ran down Marshall's spine. "I don't fucking care!", he yelled. His composure broke. "You wanna beat and kill everyone who ever hurt me? Are you fucking insane!" He really needed to be more careful what he wished for. "You would need to clean out half the city, you fucking moron! Use your goddamned head next time!"

Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, aight?"

"Don't touch me!" Marshall pulled his shoulder away.

>I will.<

Marshall's body stilled. His heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing, his muscles stopped twitching. His mind stopped.

>I will kill them<, Nicolas repeated with dark earnest. He stepped closer to Marshall, stepped right in front of him and the white puff of their breaths mingled. In a hoarse whisper he said: "No one hurts you but me." With a strong grip he squeezed Marshall's cock, achingly hard in his jeans.

Movement exploded in Marshall. Hard he grabbed Nicolas's jacket and pulled him closer. His mouth crushed into Nicolas's, a frantic kiss. Their bodies pressed firm against each other, pressure against his crotch and a desperate moan left Marshall's lips.

Blindly they reached for the door handle of the car, too absorbed with their lips and hands touching each other, and somehow they scrambled inside. Even before his back could make contact with the backseat, Marshall's hands shoved the coat off of his boyfriend's body. Who in return opened their pants, the clatter of belt-buckles was barely heard.

A cold breeze blew into the car and over his dick, Marshall shivered and moaned. Instead of Nicolas's tongue in his mouth, two fingers jabbed inside and without a thought, he sucked them wet. His hands clung on to Nicolas for dear life.

But this was no good, his legs couldn't part wide like this. He pulled himself up and onto Nicolas's lap. Closely pressed together, their dicks rubbed against each other. Both moaned. Another ecstatic kiss. Marshall closed his fist around both their erections, pumping them together, and so did Nicolas, their fingers brushing each other as they chased their orgasms together, breathlessly. When Nicolas's wet fingers entered his hole, his hips rolled down on them eagerly and chasing him deeper into lecherous uproar.

Their climax was rash and desperate and brazen.

With his eyes closed, Marshall listened to their panting and leaned his forehead against Nicolas's. His fingers trailed through the hair on the back of his boyfriend's neck. Now he could feel the tension trickle out of his body with every new moment, slowly but steadily. "You really are insane", he whispered.

Lazily Nicolas nudged his index into Marshall's chest, the meaning plain: You, too. Perhaps, there was truth to that.

A cold shiver shook his body violently and Marshall opened his eyes to find out, why. Usually, he didn't get cold easily and even when, Nicolas was warm enough for the both of them. Assessing the situation, he came to understand. His coat was missing, his sweater was pushed up and his pants were pulled down, exposing his torso to the cold breeze. Marshall raised his head and saw, the car door was open. That explained it, of course. Sitting openly and half-naked on a winter night, you would freeze fast.

Another shiver. Hastily Marshall put his pants and sweater back in order, grumbling about the lack of a tissue to wipe down their mess. But he rather be dirty than freezing. Relieved, he found his coat on the ground, but Nicolas's feet were standing on it. "Come on", he grumbled some more, but he couldn't pull it free. The cold began to bite into his clothes fast and deep. He climbed out of the car and urged: >Hurry, man, it's freezing.<

After a second, Nicolas handed him the coat through the door.

"You're unbelievable." Clearly Ryan's voice, also clear, he was seriously pissed.

Marshall turned around and looked into the faces of his two friends and his bodyguard. Mortified he tried to say something, but no words came out of his mouth.

_How about 'If you had fought, I would fuck you, too, right now'?_


	36. I Gotta Tell Myself Another Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first days of December and Marshall has another session with his therapist. He really needs to get a handle on his infidelity. Also, they talk a lot about Kim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new Eminem album out! I'm absolutely hyped! To celebrate this special occasion, here's a new chapter.

She greeted him with this warm smile of hers. "Good to see you again. It has been a while."

Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. "I got a demanding job, I don't always have time for this." That wasn't the reason. The rational side of him knew, she wasn't pissed at him for canceling their last appointment, but the other side of him was still brusk.

"I know", she nodded, "It wasn't a criticism, just an observation. Let us start with a follow-up to our last meeting, kind of tying things up a little. How did your Halloween party go?"

Instantly he tensed at the memory, his friends looming over him, telling him that they knew, that everyone saw right through him. Like he was made out of glass. But the world was still standing. Somehow. "Fun. Hot. Panic. You were kinda right, going like that was a bit coming out-ish."

"How did that go?", she asked kind, not at all insisting on: I told you so. She had every right to hang this over his head, but she didn't.

"Well …", he started and wasn't sure how to put the night into words. Now that the dust had settled and everything was set and done, at least regarding his friends knowing, it wasn't really that bad. At least he thought so. "It kinda went the wrong way around, I think. Like, they told me that they know, that they've always known. I kinda panicked, but … They're my friends, my family really and, I don't know, I think it's gonna be okay? I mean, they didn't beat me up or stuffed me with pills or preached the gospel to me or anything. Quite the contrary, we all went out after that, you know, my friends and me _and_ Nicolas. That was embarrassing as fuck, but they seem to be going along fine. Mostly." Whatever Ryan's problem was, he'd like to know.

She nodded her head pleased. "I'm glad to hear that. It's always best, when we don’t have to hide ourselves from the people we love most. And it sounds like your friends are trying to integrate Nicolas into your group?" He nodded briefly as an answer. "That is a very good development. Not always does it work out, when our friends and our lovers cross paths. It's good to hear, in your case things are going well so far."

"I think so", he agreed. "Nicolas really tries hard. He didn't object at all, when they grilled him. I warned him, but he wanted to do it anyway. He says, friends are important to me, so he goes through with it."

A genuine smile appeared on her face. "I'm really glad to hear you have a supportive environment around you. You're very lucky to have people like this in your life. I wish, more people had that, then my job wouldn't be needed as much."

A little sheepish he rubbed his neck. "It's not a big deal, we're just friends and that's what friends do …" Friends stuck up for you, they always had done so. Why would it be different now? _Ask your panic brain, that has a strong opinion on that._

"They should, yes", she agreed in a grave tone. "But not everyone reacts with sympathy when a loved one does things in a not so common way, or just in a way they don't agree with."

Marshall sighed deeply. "Yeah, I know. Kim didn't. Again."

She tilted her head with question. "I wouldn't have thought, you had invited her to your party."

"Thanksgiving", he explained, "She came over for the girls, you know."

"Ah, I see, of course. I imagine things were a little tense? Did you do the calming exercises we practiced? You know for yourself, getting agitated by her doesn't do much good."

"I know. I tried", he sighed deeply once more, "But I failed." Like he always did.

She nodded understandingly. "That's alright. You're human, not a robot, no need to feel bad about that. Just practice more. You don't have to be perfect, okay? Try to find a place, where she can't reach deep."

"Easier said than done." If he had a place like that, he'd had an easier time dealing with her. But such a place in all likelihood didn't exist.

"I'm aware", a comforting smile on her lips. "Tell me what happened. Perhaps we can find out, what went wrong and devise a strategy for the next time you meet her. Christmas is coming up, I'm assuming that'll mean for you to spend more time with her."

"Of course, it's Hailie's birthday." He would never stand in the way of his little girl enjoying her birthday and Christmas, that included having her mom around - without her dad being an asshole about it. Sadly, Thanksgiving had already been much of a disaster and he didn't know how to prevent this from happening again. Only idea he had was breaking up with Nicolas and stay silent throughout all the holidays. And that sounded awful. But maybe, for the sake of his little girl, he could manage? He'd do anything for her.

She looked at him expectantly and inquisitive.

Marshall sighed once again, probably a theme for today. "It wasn't bad at first. I mean, we bickered like always, but nothing too bad. Just the same old stuff. But then … We were alone in the kitchen and everything went sour." He ran a hand over his face. "I know, I know, I shouldn't talk to her alone, that never ends good. It just happened."

"Life tends to do that. But you already know, the two of you being alone exacerbates things, I don't need to tell you that. It can be hard to leave a room or a situation, especially if the other person is insistent, but in this case it's the best thing to do. Did you try?"

"Not as much as I should've", he admitted.

"Try harder next time", she said amicably. "Even if she gets angry at you for being rude or accuses you of running away, that is probably still better than letting the conversation unfold more naturally."

Marshall slumped down into the couch cushions, an admission that she was right, like always. He should've left the kitchen as soon as she had walked in, but his dumb ass had to stay and actually engage in her conversation. Why didn't he learn?

She pushed a strand of her curls behind her ear. "It sounded, as if she'd found out about your relationship with Nicolas, or that you're homosexual. Did I hear that right?"

"Yeah", he muttered and shuddered at the word, the memory. "I kinda slipped or something."

She made a prompting gesture for him to continue talking.

He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the recounting. "The girls are a little nosy that I have a relationship. I don't want to tell them, yet … ever … It's a bit grating but I can handle them. But that must've peaked her curiosity or something. She told me off. Said, that the girls aren't supposed to worry about me and my dumb problems - which I know, she doesn't have to tell me that. I don't want them to worry about me, either, aight. And she said, that my relationships are her business, too, to make sure no one bad gets to the girls. As if I would let anyone bad come close to them, ever. Who she thinks I am? I love the girls more than anything, I would never let anything bad happen to them. So, I told her: no. She insisted. She said, my relationship's a bad thing 'cause she, of course, thinks it's a stripper or a prostitute or some shit like that and … I mean, I get why she would think that, but it's only 'cause it's easier this way, no stupid flirting or feelings required and shit. Don't mean, that's actually what I want in a relationship. Shouldn't she know me better than this? And sure, Nicolas ain't the best company to keep, I know that, but I don't think - I don't _want_ our relationship to be a bad thing, you know. I wanted to rebut her, to say something about Nicolas, that he ain't a bad person - that's when she heard it. Then she went on a tirade about how wrong and sick I am and how shitty of a person I am. And that if I don't break up with Nicolas, she's gonna take the girls away from me, like out of the fucking country away and …" He bit his lips hard at the thought of losing his daughters.

She leaned forward in her chair and spoke softly. "She can't do that, Marshall. Remember that, she can't take them away, least of things because you're in a relationship, a same-sex one or not. You have the custody of your children because you're a good father and provide a better environment for them, despite your life being rocky at times. Homosexuality is no grounds to challenge this ruling."

Marshall let out a shaky breath and unclenched his fists slowly. "I know. I know that, it's just … She already did this shit once, and I hate it."

"Understandable, you're a father first and foremost. That is precisely why she can't do this. The court decided, it's in the best interest for your daughters to stay with you. There's no reason to overthrow this decision, especially now when you and your life are stable and healthy." Her calm, soothing voice gave some gravity to her words.

Still, he snorted dismissively. "Don't feel stable and healthy to me." Other words came to his mind: weak, out of control, failing.

Her eyes searched his figure for something. "The rest of her words don't sound … particularly nice, to say the least. Do they stick with you?"

"I try not to", he said in a low voice. "But I fell into old habits again." He always was fucking things up.

She nodded in a thoughtful gesture. "These things don't resolve themselves so easily and you two spent a long time with each other. You can show some forgiveness for yourself. Everyone would be deeply hurt by what she said just once, but you endured that for years and you're still standing strong. That is remarkable."

Marshall shook his head. "Strong ain't really the word that comes to mind, Doc." Neither was remarkable. He wasn't special enough for a word like that. "And it ain't an excuse to cheat on Nicolas either. I shouldn't have done that."

"True, that wasn't a good move", she accepted. "What happened to boxing? That worked adequately well before."

"It did a little, but she really got under my skin. And I talked with Nicolas a bit, that made things better." He scratched his neck shyly. "He said, I should live my life how I want, not what she says. That sounded right." Like something he would hear here in therapy and he knew the words from here were good, even if he couldn't always believe them.

She smiled at him. "I like to hear that. He seems to care a great deal about you, doesn't he. I'm glad your relationship develops so well."

He bend over and buried his face in his hands. "Until I fucked it up again."

A thoughtful hum from her. "That is a delicate situation. You probably should talk with him about this. What happened with your ex-wife and about how exactly Nicolas himself approaches the topic of faithfulness. So you two can map out the line together. People sometimes have different views on this topic, some are more lax than others. He seems to be supportive of you, he might be able to give you a little space in this regard."

"Yeah, no", Marshall growled and shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I know his view. He's … a bit possessive? Yeah, I think you can say that." Giving someone a collar like a pet and calling them 'mine' counted as possessive, right? It felt that way.

"Is he?", she asked with raised eyebrows. "Well, a little bit of jealousy isn't harmful, but if the word possessive is an accurate description, I strongly advise for a clarifying conversation. If this word is fitting, that often indicates somewhat harmful views or behaviors. Even more important, then, to determine what you as a couple will consider unfaithfulness and what kind of reaction is acceptable should it occur nonetheless."

He growled deeply. "I don't want it to _occur nonetheless_", he mimicked her tone of voice. "I don't want to cheat on him. I didn't want to cheat on Kim, either. I sure as shit don't what this to end the same horrible way." But he was already on that path and there was no way of leaving his nightmare. "You have to fix me!" Nicolas deserved a better man than him and Marshall wanted to be this better man, if he only knew how. Was this more selfishness?

A sympathetic nod. "I understand your anxiousness. But you know by now, some habits are hard to break out of and this is a long-standing habit of yours. Don't expect it to be fixed within a few hours, these things take time. That's why it's best to talk with him about this. So far, he's been understanding and supportive, right? When you explain to him, how things ended up this way and your desire and hard work to better yourself, it might not end in a worst case scenario."

He let out a long, deep sigh. "I was afraid you say that."

"You've been in my care for a while now, nice that some things seem to finally stick", she smiled with jest.

"More than just that, Doc", he replied with a small smile of his own. "But what if it ends in the worst case? If he can't be understanding and supportive of a cheating asshole like me? I mean, who could …" He didn't deserve Nicolas's understanding and support anyway. Not even two months and he already fell into it again. How harsh Kim had been wasn't an excuse. Even if, how he had used his friend for this … _You barely touched him, don't get hysteric over a blowjob, fag. _He was the worst. Not only would Nicolas leave him, but Ryan was angry with him as well. He really fucked everything up that was good in his life.

She clicked her tongue. "Before we engage in some hands-on therapeutic approach about anything, we need to assess the problem first and what the goal for change is here. Right?"

Marshall raised his eyes to look at her and nodded in agreement. They've been here before. "Yeah, sure. You can't fix anything, if you don't know what's broken or what the thing's supposed to do in the first place." That was just logical. You could probe around, but that usually let to more damage. He had a similar approach to his music, if it didn't work out right. You could try out stuff all you wanted, if you didn't get a vision of the finished song at some point, you wouldn't be able to finish it. "Aight, I'm on board. What you need me to do?" He halted for a moment, because he knew this. They had tackled some specific problems in the past, he already knew how she assessed things. He groaned slightly annoyed. "More embarrassing talking, ain't it? That's what you need me to do."

"Well, it is your behavior and mind that we're trying to guide into more wholesome ways. And I can't read minds just yet, so for now, talking it is. Let's start with the problem. What is that exactly?", she asked.

"That I don't want to cheat on Nicolas. I just said that."

She tilted her head slightly. "Isn't that more of a goal than a problem? A problem is some form of difficulty, something that has to be resolved in one way or another. How would it be difficult for you to not cheat on Nicolas?"

"I don't know", uncertain he rubbed his neck. "I just … do that. Or already did that, whatever. I can't help myself."

A moment of silence spun out in the room, before she spoke again. "Let's go from a different angel, perhaps that'll help. Tell me about the incident when you cheated on him. What happened, what did you do or not do, what did you feel?"

"Which one?", he asked back.

She looked at him surprised. "There's more than one incident?"

Marshall shrugged helplessly with his shoulders. "Was a hard couple of days?"

"Hm", she hummed thoughtful. "Let's focus on the one following your fight with Kim. Fighting with her always throws you off balance, that's probably a good start to dig deeper into this."

"If you say so." He would not rush to tell her what a despicable friend and boyfriend … and just human being he had been. Using Ryan because he couldn't stand the sight of himself, utterly disgusting. "Uhm, I don't really know where to start, though … Kim left after the thing in the kitchen. That just completely ended the evening, no one was in a very festive mood afterward. Can't blame them. I tried to hold myself together, but I don't think I did a good job there. I was pretty shitty the whole evening actually … I really wanted it to be a good time for the girls, but she just, I don't know, she just knows what to say. And it hurts every time. I mean, ain't the first time she called me ugly and useless, but regardless how often she says it, it doesn't really lose impact. That she wants to take the girls away 'cause of Nicolas … because I am like this, that ain't making things better. So, was a pretty dark night. I spent most of the weekend hitting the bag or running, just trying to get out of my head somehow. Being too exhausted to think is one way to do that. And I texted with Nicolas, like I said. It really sounds like he wants to be with me, that's … I don't get that, but it's … Was nice to hear that after what she said, you know. Just because it's true, don't mean you actually want to know, right …"

Marshall sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, man, this shit's just … I know it ain't true, like not all of it and not like this … I think? She always makes my head all soft and fuzzy with this shit. I can't be this much of a useless failure, not with all the things I've achieved over the years … Right? Some things I can do right and proper. Maybe not the things she wanted from me, but … I never was able to give her that anyway. She knew that! Why was she with me, if she couldn't handle that? One of us should've. I certainly didn't, hell, I still don't, but - That ain't no reason for all this shit, is it? If she was so fucking disgusted by me … by me being gay, then she could've the hell just left me, for good just once. But she fucking didn't and that ain't my fault. That can't be my fucking fault!"

She leaned forward and listened to him attentively. Now she interrupted and asked: "Did Kim know you're gay? Before last week, I mean."

"Oh yeah, she did", he nodded strongly and huffed. "She knew and she threw a fit about it back then, too."

"Huh, I find that surprising. Usually spouses leave, if they can't handle this kind of revelation. Some are supportive."

Marshall snorted derisively. "Yeah, supportive ain't her strong suit, or any suit of hers. But she knew, like, she knew very much from the start. We never spoke about it again until now, but she knew." If one could call it talking, what they had done at Thanksgiving. He wasn't sure that fit the description.

"How so?", she asked.

He shrugged. "Apparently, I'm bad at hiding it? I ain't really good at controlling myself and my impulses, you know that. I mean, I kinda dated her so I could hide it. Wasn't my finest hour, I know, it's pretty mean to do that, just … I couldn't stand it anymore and there was no excuse anymore why I didn't have a girlfriend or wasn't going out with girls really. I had to do something and that's what my stupid ass came up with." Another shrug with his shoulders, helpless and docile. What else could he have done? _Stand true to yourself and come out?_ If the truth would've come out back then, he probably would've been beaten to death for good. Somebody would've finally finished the job. Maybe that would've been better.

"It's a more common way of handling these situations than you might think", she explained in her soft voice. "Doesn't make it the right way, of course, but you're not uniquely bad for trying to fit in this way."

"Really?", he doubted that very much.

She smiled forgiving. "It's only natural for us to want to fit in with our friends, with the people around us and sometimes we try so hard, it's to the detriment of ourselves and others. That is normal, Marshall. The problem is less with you and you being who you are, and more with the system we live in and that it forces us to sometimes make these horrible decisions."

He weighed his head thoughtful. "I don't know … I knew it was wrong. You don't use people like this and deceive them. I lied to her. I lied to her about the most basic thing between us, that I liked her, that I was in love with her. I wasn't, not like that anyway. That's pretty shitty."

"Is that why you told her?", she asked.

"Ain't sure, that's how it went down …", he evaded the answer. Another deep sigh. This wasn't the time to play chicken. _Damn right, girl, stay true to yourself!_ "But yeah, I kinda wanted her to know. I mean, I didn't want anyone to know at all, but … only 'cause everyone was giving me shit about it. I wanted her - them - to get off my back. I couldn't try any harder than I already did and she being so … incessant about it, it was insufferable." He rubbed over his eyes trying to not get too absorbed into his memories. "After the first couple of months going well enough, she was so adamant about us having sex. No clue why, neither then not now, but that was that. I just … I just couldn't. We tried often, I always failed and then we inevitably fought, which didn't really make me want it more, you know."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound very romantic", she agreed. "Do you know, why you couldn't? At some point, you found a way to overcome this after all."

Marshall sighed. "Well, kinda the obvious, she's a girl and I don't find that particularly appealing. I got over that after a while, you get used to some things." He bit his lips, deciding if he should tell the whole story or not. He knew, he should. "But also, she would've been my first, I didn't want that." He looked down to his feet as he admitted this sentimental weakness of his. "I know it's dumb to put too much stock into these kinds of things, but I just do … and I think, that was for the better in the end."

She looked at him closely, thoughtfully. "We all put meaning into certain situations, especially ones that seem daunting at first or that are new to us or are somewhat of a step into a new chapter of our lives. It is perfectly fine and healthy to do so. And if you weren't prepared to take this step with her, that was perfectly fine as well. Though, it raises the question, how you resolved that special conundrum, that you didn't want your girlfriend to be your first."

Shyly he rubbed his neck. "Well, I did it with someone else instead."

"You mean, the first time you had sex at all, you were unfaithful to your girlfriend?"

Marshall blinked for a second confused. "I never thought about it this way before, but … technically … yes?" Fuck, had he never been faithful? What a huge-ass scumbag was he! "Don't ruin this for me, Doc", he pleaded.

"Not my intention", she raised her hands in surrender. "Really not my intention. I'm just trying to understand what happened."

"It was good, that's what happened. Can we leave it at that?", he muttered.

She nodded. "Of course. Do you want to tell me how Kim found out? That isn't really clear from what you've told me so far."

"Ugh", he sighed annoyed at he memory of that particular fight. "In short, with … uhm, while I had my first time, I kinda figured out what I like. Well, I mean, I got a hunch of what I like, maybe, you know what I mean. Anyway, I asked Kim to do that, right, so we could have some progress. Wasn't like I wanted to disappoint her all the time or anything, so I thought, that could be a way for us to, uh, overcome that hurdle and get it over with, you know. Now in hindsight, I shouldn't been surprised that she saw that differently. We see everything differently, but back then we didn't know each other that well yet … In any case, she thought of that as disgusting and wrong and sick and perverted and gay and - yeah, that's the main things. Didn't stop her form using it to her advantage, though, she's never one to pass up an opportunity. And that's how that went."

She knitted her eyebrows together. "I'm not totally sure I could follow you there. Let me recap my understanding. Your very first time was enjoyable and you wanted to replicate some of that with Kim, so that you two could finally have sex because that was very important. But she didn't think highly of whatever you wanted to replicate and that's how she found out you're gay?"

Marshall nodded agreeing. "In a nutshell, yes. Turned into a huge fight and, like I said, she thought of that as gay and other things. My response was, that's exactly what that is and what I am and of course, that turned into an even bigger fight … By the end of the night, though, she'd gotten her will. She always gets her will in the end. Not that the sex was any good, even I could tell that, but surely that wasn't a surprise to anyone."

"You still went through with it, in spite of the fighting?", she asked surprised.

"Yeah", he shrugged. "Not that I wanted to, but I didn't really have much of a choice there. She's way stronger than she looks and I was dumb enough to show her my weak points, shouldn't have done that. She utilized 'em to the fullest. Huh", he realized something, "Only that one time, though. Probably more for her benefit than mine or she might've had to actually cope with the fact that her boyfriend was gay - whatever that would've meant."

"Hm", she hummed low, "That is quite a story … It's not really the way most people start their sexual exploration."

He crinkled his nose. "Sometimes you say really weird shit, Doc."

A tentative smile on her lips. "Sometimes that's the best way to say a particular thing. I'm a little curious, you never mentioned any of this before when we worked through your relationship with her. Why is that?"

"Uhm …", he shifted in his seat. "Don't know. Probably 'cause I would've had to admit I ain't into girls? Ain't like I'm good at saying that."

"True", she agreed, "But you're getting better at it. You're saying it a lot smoother now."

"Thanks?" Was that a positive? It felt more like defeat, like he gave in to this thing and he still wasn't sure if he should or shouldn't.

But she continued: "Still, sounds like a dramatic event, maybe even an impactful one. There could've been use in us discussing it with everything else related to her. Don't you think?"

Marshall weighed his head. "Of course I thought about that, but … It didn't really have anything to add, you know. We fought a lot, our sex life was horrible, so that's the same, only difference is the gay-thing. And I really didn't want to get into that, like at all."

"Well, we still did", she pointed out with slight amusement. "Okay then, if this little story isn't all that special to you, we won't dwell on it."

He tilted his head. "Should it be special to me?"

"That is up to you. I only want to make sure, I don't overlook or miss anything, that has significance to your life and your well-being. If this incident is not meaningful to you, then it isn't. And if this incident is meaningful to you, we can go deeper and work through it", she offered. "But I don't believe in making a mountain out of a molehill."

For a moment, he looked at her silently. "You mean, 'cause it wasn't really a good way to do it. I mean, I know that wasn't really … it wasn't even nice, forget about romantic or sexy or anything."

"Something like that", she nodded slowly. "A fight isn't a good basis for sex, or a relationship or for anything really. Without knowing exact details, I can only say that I see potential for some … let's call them hurtful actions for the time being. But if you didn't experience this story as hurtful or not as more hurtful than what we have discussed already, then that is alright. Just because I see something, doesn't mean your experiences have to mirror that."

"Hm", he hummed low. "Not more hurtful than most other shit that happened. I know, this wasn't a good way to go about it. I mean, now I know. I don't think we need to open that particular can of worms again."

"Then for the time being, we won't. If you feel like this needs a closer look, just give me a hint", she assured him like she always did.

"Sure, Doc."

She leaned back in her chair. "I think we got a little off the path there. How are you feeling? Going back that far can be taxing, especially if the topic isn't a good one."

"Exhausted, but not too bad, honestly", he answered and was a little surprised about his own words. That wasn't a lie. "It's weird, we've been having these fights for forever and … somehow nothing has changed. Except, I'm trying to change. It's a weird juxtaposition. I mean, she said some of the same words last week that she said all those years ago about this and they hurt just as much now as they did back then, of course, but … I could talk with Nicolas about it, in a way, that was new. That was good, I think. And my friends are fine with this, I think, that's … That is actually a very reassuring thought. Like, things are actually changing for me, even if she ain't. It's really good to see that, to have this comparison. Things are moving along, slowly but surely. I like that."

She smiled at him warm and approving. "Good to hear that. It's best to make note of this in a way you can remind yourself later, if and when things seem dark again. To remember that things are changing for the better, even if a certain situation might not feel like it. People often draw strength from knowledge like this. All the better that we made this detour then."

With a small smile Marshall agreed, "I will do that."


	37. Unicorn in Human Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first weekend in December and Ryan and Marshall spent some time at a Christmas market.

"Really? Ain't this a bit … public?", he asked and doubtfully glanced out of the car window, trying to suss out how many people were here and how well they knew his face. Some crowds were more prone to recognize him than others.

Ryan smirked amused. "What? Eminem ain't allowed to have some fun?"

Marshall grumbled on that and still skeptically eyed the small, blinking Christmas trees that flanked the entrance as well as the sign hanging above: Merry Christmas! A Christkindlemarket. He shook his head: "Not sure this counts as fun, dude."

"Don't be a grouch", Ryan nudged his ribs. "Your people brought this with them, then it's your duty to enjoy it. Come on." He got out of the car.

With a sigh, Marshall followed. As the car door closed, it pulled away to park somewhere and wait for them. "Highly doubt that's how this works."

"Pretty sure, that's exactly how this works." Briefly Ryan put his arms around Marshall's shoulder, meant as encouragement. "Look, Big Eight's here, what can go wrong?"

He looked to his bodyguard for a moment. "I know like a hundred different ways from the top of my head." There was always something going wrong.

Big Eight just nodded encouragingly. He'd always make sure his boss was safe, but also that his boss could live a little. Everyone needed that.

Ryan pulled him through the gate and into the market. Right there to welcome them stood a tall wooden Christmas pyramid slowly turning on its axis, the figures looking out onto the visitors in solemn greeting. The lights shone brightly and warmly in the dark gray of this winter day.

Internally Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. It was nice to do something else for a change and get out of his daily routine. Especially since his daily routine was rather depressing at the moment. Maybe some Christmassy sweets and hot chocolate would take his mind off of things for a couple of hours. "I was a bit surprised you called, actually", he said as they leisurely strolled along the way. The stalls presented all kinds of sweets and yummy food, but also festive decorations and other knick-knacks for the season one never needed, but which looked nice in the house anyway. The smells of freshly baked waffles and hot spiced wine filled the air. "You know, after the other night." Wasn't Ryan still angry with him? Marshall would understand, you didn't use friends. He had been a bad friend and he should make an effort to mend their friendship, not the other way around.

"Nah, why?", Ryan asked puzzled.

"You was pretty pissed", he explained and browsed the display of a stall with dozens of small animal figurines. The detail was astonishing. A figure of a cat playing with a ball of yarn caught his eyes. What should he get Nicolas for Christmas? Should he even get him anything? They hadn't discussed this yet. Marshall didn't know how to bring this up. It seemed so … couple-like. Were they at this stage yet? Would the man even care? _Fuck, bitch, you're a grown man, act like it. He's probably gonna call you adorable for this one again, we can't have that._

"Not with you, not really", Ryan defended himself and looked over Marshall's shoulder. He picked up a figure of a black puppy wiggling its tail and looked at it intensely for a moment before he put it back. "Was a weird night, you know."

That was certainly true. "Yeah … Sorry for that."

"Not your fault, not really", Ryan defended him this time. "Nicolas is …", he was looking for the right word.

"I know", Marshall interrupted before his friend could find an adequate one. He had tried, there wasn't really a word to describe his boyfriend well. Insane and brutal, obvious from that night, but also tender and thoughtful, not to forget demanding and teasing. Truly a person with whom life would never be boring.

Ryan hummed low and they followed the crowed along to the next stall.

"What did you guys fight over anyway?", he asked. Nicolas wouldn't tell him, much to his annoyance. How could he fix this, if he didn't know what was broken? Had Nicolas found out about his infidelity? _I'm sure, he'll call you out on it if he knew. That guy ain't one to just take things lying down, he's gonna strike back, hard._ But why would he be fighting with Ryan instead of him? After all, Marshall had been the person to break their relationship and they had barely begun forming one.

"Uhm …", Ryan hawed, "Doesn't really matter."

"Of course it does", he insisted and looked up to him. "You're important to me."

Ryan smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it, it's fine."

He didn't really believe that. "You can tell me when something's wrong. I mean … We're friends, right?"

"Of course we are", Ryan said promptly and nodded strongly. "That don't change, don't worry. You can't do anything about it anyway, no reason to get all worked up over it."

That didn't sound any better. "Just tell me."

Ryan shrugged briefly, barely visible with the big winter coat he wore. "I just don't like him very much."

Marshall blinked surprised. "What? Why not?" Nicolas was a peculiar person, sure, but that made him so likable in the first place. Every facet of his was exquisitely different from the next, yet somehow they all belonged to the same stoic man.

"Don't know. Just don't get a good vibe from him." Ryan stopped at a stall with wind chimes made from colorful glass. The geometric shapes flowed into each other as they spun in the breeze and the light danced off of them in curious ways.

"He's cool, trust me", Marshall assured him.

Ryan hummed low and disagreeing. "No offense, but you don't have the best taste when it comes to lovers, you know."

There wasn't much to be said in his defense, so Marshall sighed and shrugged in response. He was aware of this fact, he of all people knew this intimately well. One of the many reasons this relationship freaked him out on a regular basis, he never had much luck in this regard. But Nicolas was different. _Yeah, he's worse. He kills people for a living, won't stress him out at all to do it to your cheating ass._

Again Ryan laid his arms around Marshall's shoulders and he leaned into him close. Close enough to whisper into his ear: "Don't worry, I'm here for you. I'll keep you save."

A shy smile on Marshall's lips. "Thanks … But I can look after myself, you know."

"Four eyes are better than two", Ryan winked amused and dragged him to the next stall with all kinds of gingerbread.

Probably true. It was nice, after all, to have friends who cared so much and who stood by even when things were bad. Friends, who forgave your faults. Appeared like Ryan had forgiven his stupid stunt already, without him having to do anything for it. Marshall decided to get Ryan something special for Christmas. _Like your ass with a bow?_ He needed to show how much he appreciated the other being his friend, how much that meant to him. That he wanted them to be friends, even when he did stupid stuff like this.

Big Eight cleared his throat in warning.

"Uh-uhm … 'cuse me?", a small voice said behind them. A man in his early twenties, big coat and with a nervous glint on his face stood there, two friends half a step behind him.

Marshall turned around. "'Sup?", he asked with a slight nod. He wasn't about to ruin someone's weekend much less their Christmas by being an asshole. At least, as long as that person wasn't an asshole first. This was a public space, so of course this would have to happen sooner or later, he knew that and he could handle that.

"You're, uh, Eminem, right? And Royce?", the young man said. "This is so cool! Just … so freaking cool!"

Sweet. He nudged Ryan's arm: "Look at that, you're famous, too."

Ryan grinned and nodded: "I know, I worked hard for it."

The young man stepped closer. "Could you maybe sign something for me? I'm a huge fan of both of you. I just love _Death Is Certain_ and _Relapse_ is pure genius, if you ask me", he started to talk while he was searching in his backpack for something for them to sign. "I'm so thrilled you two are friends again. You doing any music together? That be so fucking dope. I loved that track back on _Slim Shady_." He pulled a calendar out of his backpack and opened the page for today. When he handed the book to them, his nervousness caught up with him again. "Uhm, please?"

"Sure", Marshall nodded and fished out a pen from his pocket. He never left his house without pen and paper. "Glad you like our shit", he said and wrote a Christmas wish onto the page and signed it. He added a little doodle of a devilish snowman. "You'll probably hear us together again. But psst, it's still a secret, you know." He winked with that.

Ryan added his own signature to the page and some words as well. "You only keep it secret, 'cause my shit's better than yours", he joked and gave the calendar back.

"I'm worried about your delusions, man. That's all", Marshall replied jokingly.

The young man was brightly delighted as he saw that the whole page was now covered in words from the two rappers. "You guys just made my day. Thank you! This is the best Christmas ever." Carefully he put his new treasure back into his backpack.

"Happy holidays, man", Ryan wished their fan. "We better should get going, though, you know, don't wanna get into a mob here."

One of the friends stepped forward now, munching on a sweet snack. "You should go get roasted almonds next. There's an awesome booth next to the nutcracker. It got all the flavors, it's delicious. Cinnamon, salt, honey, Nutella, strawberries - unbelievable. You seriously need to check that out." Obvious enthusiasm regarding the sweet treat.

The friend with the autograph rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's just almonds, dude, not a revelation. Stop annoying everybody with it", and he shoved his friend aside.

"But it's awesome", the young man insisted.

"We will. Can't miss that, can we", Ryan assured amused.

The three friends resumed their original way, probably debating over almonds and what a freak coincidence this meeting was.

Marshall and Ryan got on with their stroll as well, passing more stalls with decorations and foods and drinks. Arrangements of evergreen twigs and fir cons were sold here, next a display of wooden Christmas trees in all sizes and colors, a stall just for candles made from beeswax, cuteness overload at the booth with angels to sit and hang and cuddle with. When they turned the corner, the first thing they saw was the huge nutcracker at the end of the line. It had to be twenty feet tall and its mouth opened and closed slowly.

"Guess, that must be where the roasted almonds are", Ryan realized out loud.

Marshall nodded slowly. "I'm surprised there ain't a booth just for nutcrackers though." Little did he know, the huge wooden statue was flanked not only by a stand for roasted almonds, but on the other side was a booth for nutcrackers in all sizes and colors.

The guy hadn't been lying, there were more than a dozen different flavors of roasted almonds and some other roasted nuts as well. They each bought a little bag, Ryan got his almonds with chocolate-mint flavor and Marshall got a batch with balsamic-raspberry flavor.

"Let me try yours", Marshall asked his friend curious and he already stuck his fingers into Ryan's nuts. He snickered at the phrasing of this thought.

Ryan smirked amused. "Only if I get some of yours."

Of course his friend could and Marshall held up his little bag of almonds, so Ryan had easier access to them. "It's pretty good, still sweet as fuck, though."

"Fitting", Ryan mumbled while chewing and slowly nodded in agreement. This was pretty tasty.

Marshall blinked. What did that mean?

"You seen you?", Ryan said with a playful smile. "You got rosy cheeks like a toddler, that's pretty sweet. Downright cute even."

Marshall crinkled his nose. "I ain't cute. That's just the cold, dude, it's freezing." He raised his shoulders in a protective reflex and the fake fur of the coat's hood reached into his face. It tickled his nose and he sneezed small, high-pitched.

"Yeah … No, you ain't helping your case there", Ryan stated dryly.

Marshall grumbled and scratched his nose, which was tingly from the fur. "I'm a grown-ass man, asshole", he huffed. And he sure as shit wasn't cute. _Oh come on, we both know what you’re doing here, slut._

"I know", Ryan agreed with heavy nodding. "You're older than me, like by a big enough margin actually, so believe me, I know."

Marshall grumbled some more. He usually was the oldest compared to his friends. Well, in numbers at least.

"Still", Ryan shrugged, "I think, it's a good thing, you know."

He saw that very different. Cute was for little kids and young women, not for men. _Then stop being cute, bitch, problem solved. But you can't, can you. _That only invited all kinds of harassment. "Yeah, how would that be?", he muttered.

"It's just how you are. I told you, I like you. I like you in all your multifaceted weirdness and that includes you being nice and sweet every once in a while." Ryan's voice dropped down to an intimate whisper.

This tone raised goose bumps all over Marshall's body. What was he supposed to answer to a statement like this? _How about another blowjob, homo, he certainly is in to that. _He nodded with a low hum.

"How about we try the merry-go-round next?", Ryan suggested with a smirk and changed the subject to something simpler. The old-fashioned carousel was lit just as festive as all the other booths and attractions, the horses shone white and red.

Marshall burst out laughing. "Sure, if they let two adult men with zero kids on it. They might have a rule against pervy people like that."

Ryan feigned pondering this interjection. "What a bummer, didn't think about that."

"That's what you have me for. I smell perviness ten miles away", Marshall kept joking.

Ryan looked at him for a long moment, amused and also thinking. "You still get one from me."

With an almond between his lips, he looked to Ryan puzzled. "Why?", he asked.

"The other day", Ryan explained and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Marshall swallowed hard at the memory of it. So, Ryan had not forgiven him yet? Of course not, he wasn't so lucky. "Sorry."

"No, don't be", Ryan shook his head. "Come." He grabbed Marshall's hand and pulled him through the meandering crowd.

Surprised, Marshall stumbled after his friend. Where was Ryan taking him? Why was he pulling at him anyway? But more importantly, how could he show his friend how sorry he was? He didn't mean to abuse their friendship like this and had he been thinking straight, he wouldn't have. Surely, he wouldn't have, even he had boundaries. _Who're you kidding, slut?_ Fine, maybe he didn't have boundaries, but their friendship meant a whole lot to him and he wasn't going to ruin it again. Or ruin it more than he already had. Why was he always fucking things up? _'Cause you always think with your pussy first. Case and point._

Ryan dragged him to a dark corner, where the lights of the market didn't reach well, and pulled him in close, their coats rustled against each other. "Don't ever be sorry, aight? You're perfect the way you are", he said with a low voice and his warm breath hit Marshall's cheeks. "Let me show you."

They kissed.

Marshall was astonished as he felt soft lips on his own and a tongue prying him open. His mouth opened on his own and their tongues met each other, just as striving as always. Not a second passed and their kiss was heated and fierce, the air in his lungs vibrated. A quick pull of the zipper and Ryan's coat was open, Marshall's arms wrapped themselves around the muscular torso. It felt almost burning hot in Ryan's cloths, only because the cold air around them was biting.

Ryan's hands found their way into his coat just the same and pulled at his hoodie impatiently.

The grin on Marshall's lips got absorbed into their kiss. But he knew a better way to express himself and his hands cupped Ryan's crotch. His friend was well on his way to hardness. That made him sigh with want.

Ryan did the same to him, his hand on Marshall's groin felt the same exact thing: arousal getting high. Their lips parted, barely an inch but enough to feel it as a loss. "Let me make it up to you", he whispered. "Let me treat you right."

Marshall's ears heated up at those words. Nervous, he bit his lip and had to look away. A second, he paused. "Why's there straw here?", he asked. _Hahaha! Finally you turn your life into an actual porn movie! Perfect!_

"Who cares", Ryan dismissed the question and opened Marshall's belt. He kissed him again feverishly and his hands grabbed Marshall's ass tight.

Another wanting sigh from him. He took a step backward to lean against the wall, but the wall gave way behind him. Almost Marshall fell, but Ryan held him tight. A dull thud, as something heavy hit the straw. Puzzled, they pulled their lips apart again and looked to what happened.

Marshall knitted his eyebrows. That wasn't a wall, that was a wooden statue of … a donkey? "Fuck, where did you-"

But his question was interrupted. "Hey!", a deep voice yelled out to them. "Hey! Get out of there! I'm calling the cops! Sacrilege! Fucking homos!"

"Fuck!", Marshall cursed and pulled his pants back up. Again, Ryan's hand grabbed him and pulled him away. On fast feet they ran through the crowd, first cursing, soon laughing. They dodged the other visitors, sometimes that earned them more angered yells, which only made them laugh more. Until they stopped at the other end of the market.

"We made out in front of baby Jesus", Marshall spluttered laughing and held his ribs, which didn't know what to protest more, the panicked running or the uncontrollable laughter.

Ryan looked just the same, leaning on a high table to find his breath again. Without much success. "Not on purpose!", he defended himself between wheezes.

"Oh, you did it on purpose alright." He remembered the determined pull at his arm very well. "Sacrilege!", Marshall mimicked the man, who had interrupted them, and burst into another fit of laughter.

"At least now you know what the straw was for", Ryan explained and wiped tears from his eyes.

Marshall leaned against the wall of a booth, this time an actual wall. "Yeah … your idea was better, though."

"We gonna repeat that", Ryan assured him and still chuckled.

Marshall snickered as he nodded. "Sure, but not here, man. Way too public."

Ryan laughed again, warm this time. "That never really bothered you."

"Shut up", he said, still grinning but also kicking out after his friend.

"You guys want some mulled wine?", an older woman asked friendly. She worked the booth they were leaning against and looked at them curiously. "Or maybe you had too much already?"

Ryan stepped toward her. "Great idea, didn't have any yet. You got some rum or brandy to go with that?"

"Not for me", Marshall shook his head and skimmed the menu hanging on the side of the booth. "Hot cocoa's fine. Do you have dark chocolate by any chance?"

"I got you, boys", she nodded and prepared their order. "You have a lot of fun here, don't ya?"

Ryan chuckled again. "We sure have. But some other guy's probably pretty pissed right now." He mumbled "Sacrilege" again and snickered.

"Huh, did we lose Big Eight?", Marshall wondered and looked around. "Well, he's gonna be pissed." His bodyguard did not appreciate when Marshall wandered off by himself and got lost.

Ryan put his arms round his shoulders. "I'ma watch out for you and that you don't get into trouble. Don't worry."

He looked at his friend doubtful but highly amused. "I didn't do nothing this time. 'S was all you." _You did plenty, slut. Shouldn’t you be here with your boyfriend?_

"Sure you did, you're irresistible", Ryan explained with a wide and fond grin. "Your face is still all rosy, you know, it's lovely."

Two steaming cups were put in front of them. "Here you go, I put a little extra in there for you. Don't let some stupid bigot ruin your fun, all couples are allowed to enjoy Christmas, straight or otherwise", she smiled encouragingly.

Marshall looked at his cup, which seemed to be more whipping cream than hot chocolate, but he wouldn't complain about that. "Thanks, but we're just friends", he tried to correct her assumption and fumbled for his money.

However, Ryan was quicker and handed her the couple of bills. "That's what I keep telling him, but he's much of a pessimist", he explained jokingly.

"I ain't a pessimist, it's called down-to-earth", Marshall muttered low and started to spoon the cream into his mouth.

"Honey, there ain't nothing wrong with dreaming big. Especially not when you have such a handsome man at your side", the woman told him.

Marshall raised his eyebrows, but the small smile on his lips wouldn't go away. "I don't know about big. It's more … You don't need big, if your home is real, you know."

"That's what you have me for", Ryan agreed and softly bumped their shoulders together.

Marshall replied with a soft bump of his own.

The woman watched them fondly. "Christmas is a wonderful time, don't you think? I mean, you actually see people care for each other for a change. It's really the season of love."

"It is, isn't it", Ryan agreed, "Makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. Like your wine, this is an amazing brew. Can I have another one?"

"Of course", so she made him another cup.

Marshall had his fingers wrapped around his cup and sipped his hot chocolate more leisurely. His pocket vibrated and a short melody emanated from it. Not just his phone, but it was Nicolas's ringtone. Hastily he pulled it out and read the message: you wanna do something for christmas or is that closed off for family only? He bit his lips delighted. Nicolas wanted to do something for Christmas? That was pretty big and Marshall got nervous just thinking about it. He wrote back: christmas day is for family only, it's Hailie's birthday. but we can meet some other day that week?

"Hey, am I not exciting enough?", Ryan asked with jest and leaned over to read his phone.

Marshall smirked: "I have other friends, you know." Now he seriously had to think about Nicolas's gift. Probably a book would be a good choice? Though, his boyfriend didn't read with much passion, so how much would he enjoy one as a present? Hard to tell.

"Well, he ain't here." Ryan took the phone out of Marshall's hands and put it into his own pocket. "We ain't done yet, there's still more stuff to see. Come", he prompted. Ryan downed his cup of mulled wine in one gulp.

Marshall finished the rest of his hot chocolate as well. "Fine, but give me my phone back, aight?"

"Later", Ryan dismissed and lead him down the line of booths. They didn't go far, before he exclaimed: "Look, teddies galore. You need one for your girls?"

Marshall snorted amused. "They're teens, they would never admit to that. What about yours? Your girls are still small like this."

"Huh, you're right", and Ryan halted in front of the booth, which had all the teddybears in the world. One, brown and holding a heart, he took into his hands and squeezed it a bit, then he rubbed the teddy against Marshall's cheek. "Feel this, ain't this fluffy? They don't have anything this fluffy."

With a smile he nodded: "It's very fluffy." He turned to the vendor: "You have anything more fluffy than this? Really soft and puffy, something a two-year old can snuggle with?"

The vendor handed him a white teddybear. "That's the fluffiest I have. My three-year old has the same, he loves it."

As Marshall held the teddy in his hands, he understood why. The stuffed animal was supremely soft to the touch and the fur was light and smooth. It just begged to be cuddled with. "This is perfect. You should get this one", he advised his friend. "I'm sure, they'll love it. And if they don't, I would."

"You have three of those?", Ryan asked and luckily, the vendor had. He couldn't get one of his girls the perfect teddybear, but his other two went away empty-handed.

Marshall nodded satisfied as they strolled on. "See, finding them presents ain't hard at all."

"Easy for you to say." Ryan glanced one last time into the bag with the freshly purchased stuffed toys. "And I wasn't worried about the girls. They love everything cute and pink. I mean, they're one, two and four, that's easy to impress."

"True", he relented. "You'll find something for your boys, I'm sure."

Ryan hummed dark. "I don't know, Trenton's really getting difficult. Not just for presents, you know, just in general."

"Is he? Is he getting in trouble?" He'd always thought Trenton was a nice kid. But sometimes, that was what got you into trouble in the first place.

Ryan shrugged briefly. "I don't think so, not yet at least. He's just hard to handle", he tried to explain. "You have those problems with Hailie?"

"Nah, she's a good kid and smart as hell. She probably seen me and knows what not to do, you know. I just make sure, she knows I'm there for her if shit hits the fan. That's important. I mean, it's getting a bit hard to spend time with her, but that's probably for the best. You know, spending time with friends and doing her hobbies - growing into her own person, right, that should be her priorities, not her old man. Maybe Trenton's trying the same thing?"

"Maybe", Ryan didn't sound convinced. "We don't have much in common, maybe it's that."

Marshall weighed his head. "Possible. You should try and find something you could do together. To show him, that you're there and approachable if he needs you, right, that you're his dad regardless. But don't try too hard, that just backfires bad."

"I'll keep that in mind." Then Ryan changed the subject: "But we can mope about our kids growing up some other time. That ain't what we're here for."

"It ain't? What're we here for then?", Marshall asked jokingly. "Getting high on powdered sugar?"

Ryan grinned: "Sounds like fun." So, he dragged him to a stall, that baked and sold waffles. Ryan really got his with powdered sugar, but Marshall opted for hot cherries on top.

A whispered cry next to them. "Oh my God, I can't believe this!", a young female voice said. The brunette looked at them wide eyed and shook her friends arm hard, maybe trying to get at least her friend to believe this. "You're Eminem! Here! Just … Here of all places. Never thought anybody cool would go to something this lame."

Marshall sighed internally. Now he regretted that they lost Big Eight in the crowd earlier. Was it worth to lie that he wasn't Eminem? He wanted to eat his waffles.

The brunette stepped right next to him, holding her camera up for a photo. "This is so unbelievable. Eminem at a Christmas market, like, really. Nobody's gonna believe this. This is so random, just ridiculous."

"It's nice that you girls have fun", Ryan interrupted her sternly, "But we're trying to eat here in peace, if you don't mind."

"Who're you?", she asked puzzled.

Marshall growled low: "Let's leave", and pushed his friend aside, back into the meandering crowd strolling along the booths. It was a pity to leave their half eaten waffles behind, but perhaps he could make some at home and enjoy them in peace. December had just started, there was enough time for some festive fun at home.

"Hey!", she yelled after them. "You can't just leave!"

That was exactly what they were doing and it only took a few steps, and they were part of the crowd again. Just some visitors here, nobody needed to pay them any attention.

There were booths which sold folksy cups or decorative, illuminated stars or Christmas lights or schwibbogen with intricate designs carved into them. One stall burned your name or a cute motive into a wooden cutting board.

But Marshall halted next at a stand with all sorts of baking dishes. "Oh, that's nice", he mumbled to himself. He had laid eyes on a set of cookie cutters with a cutesy unicorn theme.

Ryan chuckled next to him. "You're into baking? This'll make some sparkling cookies, no doubt."

"It's for Whitney", he grumbled and his ears heated up embarrassed. "They have a bake sale at her school this month", he explained. Ryan shouldn’t think of him as lame. Baking. So he explained even further: "I think, she'll like these and she can stand out a little. Kim ain't really good at the oven, you know." Even if Kim didn't make the best cookies, having them in the shape of unicorns and rainbows would earn his little girl a few points for effort. Maybe if they used colorful frosting, she could impress some of her classmates. He'd have to remind Kim later to pick an easy but tasty recipe. He probably had one lying around somewhere he could send over.

The set was payed for quickly.

"Yeah, she doesn't strike me as much of a cook", Ryan thought out loud. "But unicorns probably sell, regardless how they taste."

Marshall nodded agreeing. "My thoughts exactly. And with enough colorful frosting, even burned cookies are great."

"Sounds like you have big plans already. Why don't you bake cookies with her, then? I mean, it doesn't matter if Kim burns them or you, right." A small smirk was on Ryan's lips. "Would probably earn you some extra dad-points with her, wouldn't it?"

"Nah, it's fine", he shrugged slightly. "She can do that with her mom, I don't want to stand between them or anything. I mean, that's something girls do with their moms, I'm assuming she wants that, too. It's just the normal thing to do, ain't it."

"Guess so." Ryan looked at him for a moment, head tilted. "I'm always a little impressed. You still give Kim so much space, after all you guys've been through and shit. I don't know if that's sweet or dumb."

Marshall returned the look doubtful. "Probably both. She's their mom, whether I like it or not, and the girls should have as much of her as they can have. That's all there is to it."

"Yeah, I don't know if I could do that, if I was you." Ryan stole another glance into the bag with the teddybears he had bought for his daughters. "Ain't like you two just grew apart and everything ended in friendship and shit. I would probably bear a huge grudge … Even if I was the one, who broke us apart, you know."

"Well", Marshall said slowly, "You are the one who's breaking you guys apart ... Look, I ain't no saint or anything. She did shit wrong, and I did shit wrong. Doesn't mean, anything's great now, just means … They're my little girls, man, if being with their mom makes them happy, then that makes me happy. That's it. And if it means I have to put up with Kim, I will handle that, somehow."

"Your girls are lucky to have you, you know."

Marshall shrugged with his shoulders once more, more embarrassed. "I'm just trying my best."

Ryan smiled at him affectionately. "You're succeeding."

It took a few booths for them to pass, until Marshall didn't feel so embarrassed anymore. He tried to be a good father and for his girls to have good lives, no reason to make a fuss about it. Wasn't this normal, anyway? But a few stalls down the line, the spirit of the Christmas market and its attractions had him back again. Of course they had to see the big Christmas tree at the center of the market, it was beautifully decorated and looked like a postcard. They saw even more booths and stalls with gingerbread and cookies with cinnamon or aniseed or vanilla and stollen and speculoos as far as the eye could see. Just from looking at it, Marshall was gaining some pounds, he could feel it. Holiday season always did that to him. They even came by the nativity scene again, this time from the right side to actually see the display of the live-size figures. It was lovely from this side.

"Look, somebody stood the donkey up", Marshall pointed out and laughed quietly.

Ryan chuckled as well. "Probably the same guy. Sacrilege!"

Both burst out laughing and were quick to get away from there, lest they get recognized again. This time not so much for being rappers, but for being some indecent homosexuals. A bad combination.

"Still, my point stands", Ryan insisted.

Marshall looked at him doubtful, first into his friend's face, then his eyes wandered down the other’s body. "Well, doesn't look standing to me, not right now." A friendly shove to his shoulder.

"You wanna go back and knock the donkey over again?", Ryan asked half joking, half challenging.

But he shook his head. "I reiterate, you don't need to. I shouldn't have done that in the first place. Just cause I have a problem with Nicolas, don't mean I can take it out on you, does it. And I'm really sorry." His therapist had made this real clear to him, the benefit of apologies. They didn't change the past, but they showed hope for the future. _Only if you mean it, slut_.

"Don't be", Ryan repeated himself from earlier.

Marshall tilted his head and looked at his friend puzzled.

With a side nod of his head Ryan suggested: "Come, let's get out of here."


	38. I Just Wanna Be Your Secret Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their date at the Christmas market, Ryan takes Marshall back to his apartment. And things get sexy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dubious consent. There's a moment in this chapter, where the question of consent can be argued in either direction.

Marshall stepped through the door and a small apartment opened up in front of him. The short hall led him into the living room. With two couches, a coffee table and a TV the room had everything you needed, but it didn't really look lived in. As he looked around, he leaned against the backrest of one of the couches and finally asked: "What's this for?"

Ryan took his big winter coat off and threw it onto the couch. "Just a place for fun, you know."

Giving the living room one more long look and noticing no game consoles nor DVDs nor CDs or anything remotely fun, Marshall went out on a limb, "You mean, with your mistress."

"Can't really take her home, can I?", Ryan defended himself with a weak shrug.

"Hm", Marshall mumbled to himself, "Never thought about that." Motels had worked fine for him.

Ryan clicked with his tongue. "And she ain't my _mistress_, dude. What am I? Some English lord or what?"

Marshall laughed softly. "Nah, that you ain't, not by a mile. You want me to call her your side bitch and Mona your main bitch? That's just rude, Mona deserves better, you know."

"Didn't bother you to say it about Kim", Ryan said and tilted his head thoughtfully.

Marshall waved the interjection aside. Then he took his own winter coat off. "You really serious about … owing me something like this?", he asked. Marshall wasn't sure, if he liked this thought or not. _I’m sure for you, slut. I know what you’re doing_. On the one hand, he did find Ryan madly attractive and they certainly had chemistry between them. Back in the day, they had had a lot of fun in bed. Well, figuratively, bed probably was one of the places they had spent the least amount of time in. On the other hand, they were good and close friends and usually sex didn't go with that. On the other other hand, he also was with Nicolas and shouldn't have sex with anybody else but him. Which he had broken twice already.

"Well, you said it yourself, you weren't really thinking straight in that moment. I kinda took advantage of you, didn't I. So, I should make it up to you, don't you think?", Ryan explained and leaned casually against the doorframe.

Marshall highly doubted, this was how these things worked. "Shouldn't you tell me, not to cheat on my boyfriend? Again."

Briefly Ryan weighed his head. "If you were any other person, sure I would. But you flirted with a hooker right in front of him, I don't think, this'll make anything worse." There was undeniably truth to that. Then Ryan smiled at him softly and stepped forward until they almost touched. "Wanna know what I think? I think, you do this on purpose." _You ain’t fooling no one, bitch._

Marshall swallowed nervously. "I don't know, what you mean."

"Let me show you", Ryan whispered and kissed him again, slowly and tenderly.

Of course Marshall kissed back. He liked the feel of Ryan's soft lips on his own and how their tongues always strived to reach the sky - regardless if they were rapping with each other or kissing one another. His hands grabbed hold of Ryan's sweater.

As their lips parted just enough to not be kissing anymore, Ryan asked under his breath: "See?"

The only answer he could give, was him sucking his lower lip between his teeth and kneading it shyly. _Ugh, can you stop this cutesy act? It's making me sick, fag._ What was he to say? He had never denied that he liked Ryan. He trusted his friend and he loved spending time with him. Wasn't that okay? "I see you", he answered in the same low tone.

One more time today Ryan grabbed Marshall's hand and pulled him with, into the bedroom this time. Here, he kissed him again, with more passion now as he walked them slowly to the bed.

Marshall felt the edge of the bed against the back of his legs and let himself fall down, but never did he let go of Ryan's hand. The satin covers felt smooth under him. A small smile on his lips and he softly tugged at Ryan's hand still holding his.

Ryan followed the unspoken request and laid down on him, kissed him again. "I make you feel good", he said with a low voice. "Whenever he doesn't, I will."

Gently Marshall stroked over Ryan's cheek, feeling the little stubble. "You don't have to."

Ryan kissed his wrist, kissed the last yellowish tint the belt had left behind. "He surely should."

Marshall bit his lip again. "It's not like you think."

"I have eyes, man, I see what he does to you." Ryan's lips followed the lines of the tribal tattoo that circled Marshall's wrist.

"It's my own fault", Marshall defended.

A deep sigh. "It's never your fault. Not with Kim, not with him."

Marshall pulled his friend down to kiss him once more. "This really was my fault. I tore at the belt too much", he explained quietly. "I ain't good with these sorts of things, I mean, you know that."

For a moment, Ryan blinked at him puzzled, then he slightly shook his head. "He should be more careful with you. If he really liked you, he wouldn't be so … He just wouldn't do that." His hand slipped underneath Marshall's hoodie and t-shirt to find skin.

Marshall shrugged briefly. "He likes it this way." What was he to do about it? He couldn't deny Nicolas his pleasures, that would be wrong.

"But you don't", Ryan said firmly. "You deserve somebody who likes it your way."

Instantly, Marshall's ears heated up. There was nothing he could do against it, against a faint memory rising up. He pushed it back down.

Ryan chuckled softly. "You're real cute sometimes, you know that?" A soft kiss on his lips. "No wonder you pull off a skirt so well."

The heat flowed into his cheeks and he mumbled: "I ain't cute." But he knew, this argument was lost. _You only have yourself to blame, slut._

"It's a shame, they don't appreciate that about you." Another soft kiss on his lips and his cheeks and down his neck.

Marshall sighed quietly and stretched his neck, so his friend may linger. "… Who?", he asked a second too late.

Now with more space, Ryan kissed and licked and nibbled at the fair neck. He found the perfect spot to suck and softly bite into the skin. When he leaned back again, there was satisfaction in his gaze. "Both of them, Kim and Nicolas. They don't appreciate you right."

"But you do?", Marshall asked and touched the wettish spot on his neck. "Did you just make me a hickey? Dude, come on."

Ryan laughed briefly. "I'm sure, it's gonna be hella sexy on you."

Grumbling Marshall bumped his fist into his friend's shoulder. "It's more complicated than that, with Kim I mean. She ain't a bad person, and neither is Nicolas." He pulled at Ryan's sweater to get it off of him.

His friend helped with the piece of clothing. "I know that you think that, but when she runs off her mouth about you … Boy, there ain't enough soap in the world for that." With a soft touch he stroked over Marshall's cheek and kissed him again, long and heartfelt. His hands opened the zipper of the hoodie.

Marshall kissed him back intensely and squeezed his arms out of his hoodie. "That ain't her fault. I hurt her deeply. How's she supposed to … appreciate anything about me, when I'm a colossal asshole to her? She copes by being mean." A reaction Marshall understood well and often employed himself. It was a lot easier to be angry and mean at the people who hurt you, than to actually show how you felt. Being vulnerable always made people hurt you more.

Ryan leaned back for a moment. "Why did you guys never break up? I mean, break up for good, you always came back together somehow."

"Like I said, it's more complicated than that", Marshall shrugged noncommittal. Then he smirked and bit lightly into the tip of Ryan's nose. "You really wanna talk about my ex-wife now?", he asked humorously. "Thought, you wanted to make this feel good? Hint: Talk about her doesn't do that." With this thought in mind, his hands worked the belt open. Marshall wasn't above teasing the interested dick with a squeeze or two through the denim of Ryan's jeans. Talking about other people wasn't sexy, if he was asked. Playing with a hard dick on the other hand, that was very sexy indeed.

Ryan gave back the smirk. "There he is", he said with his deep voice, tone satisfied. He pulled the t-shirt off of Marshall's pale body and shook his head slightly amused at the sight of the naked torso. "Man, you're really going the extra mile, ain't ya. How come, you look better now than thirteen years ago? That ain't how time works."

Marshall shrugged again. "It's called a personal trainer, thought you knew that." This wasn't a secret. Way in the past, he had hated to be some scrawny teen, but it took him long to do anything about it. He hadn't thought putting work into himself was worth the effort, but luckily some effort wasn't totally lost on him. A very few things he could do right, then he deserved to do just a little bit for himself. Yes?

"I know that", Ryan huffed and bend down to kiss and lick across the defined chest. "It's just the first time I get to enjoy the results, is all."

He rolled them onto Ryan's back and came to straddle his friend. Marshall's hands clawed into the dark, tattooed flesh. "That's your own fault." Now he bend down to kiss Ryan heated and breathless and he whispered against the soft lips: "Let's cut the chitchat, aight. You want to fuck me? Then do it."

"Oh, I will." Ryan did not need any more invitation. Quickly he took off the rest of their clothes, shoes and pants flying to the floor. He was a little more careful taking off his chain with its big pendant of a microphone. Marshall found his friend's taste in jewelry hilariously over the top, but his own he took off himself. This certainly would turn into more than a quickie, they had years to catch up on. Then Ryan gathered the aids they would need from within the nightstand: lube and condoms. Two highly important items he had on stock in this apartment.

Marshall took the opportunity to watch his friend for a moment. The muscular body stretched over the bed, all 5 feet and 9 inches of it. One of the few people he wanted to be taller than himself. The dark and tattooed skin shone alluringly against the light blue sheets. His favorite color, what a nice coincidence. He followed his impulse and bit into Ryan's navel, kissed and licked across the stomach. The hard dick begged for his attention and who was Marshall to deny? He kissed and licked along its length, soon he indulged himself and took it into his mouth. The voiceful sigh from his friend was evidence, Ryan liked this just as much as he did.

A hand on his cheek tried to raise his head up, but Marshall was stubborn. Why stop, when Ryan liked this? With heated effort he put more pressure into it, took him deeper. This he could do right, he knew.

"Damn … Get your ass over here", Ryan said a little breathless.

Marshall slowed down and with a last long lick, he let go of the dick. For now. One more kiss, he sucked at its side. "What?", he asked and his fingers massaged the wettish skin.

Ryan smirked amused. "Sometimes you're really dense. Get your ass here. Didn't I say, I make _you_ feel good?"

"Your dick winked at me, what you expect me to do?" Another long, slow lick up its length.

"Right, I forgot", Ryan muttered to himself. He reached forward and grabbed Marshall's hips, pulled them toward himself. Almost Marshall fell over himself trying to hold onto the dick he badly wanted to suck, while his body was yanked across the bed like this, on top of Ryan's. A bite into one of the ass cheeks, Marshall moaned silently. "Then, go on. But don't overdo it, aight. I'll have you know, I want to come inside this beauty." He tightly squeezed Marshall's ass, another moan.

A shudder ran through Marshall's body. Shortly he nodded, "Yes, don't overdo it." He would keep with that. Then, he wrapped his lips around the hard dick again, sucking pleasure from it. But he was careful to go nice and slow only, as told.

"Yeah, right there, that's it", Ryan praised him with a satisfied sigh. Another bite into one of the ass cheeks, before a slick finger teased the rim playfully, mimicking to enter him only to have Marshall huff with disappointed anticipation. Until his moan stuck in his throat, as Ryan's finger slid inside him. His hole puckered willingly around the digit and not before long, Ryan slid a second finger inside and started to open him up for real.

But this time, this would not be the end. Marshall was determined to handle it right this time. He couldn't have all the fun, that would be wrong. It was only for his benefit that Ryan or Nicolas seduced his hole, but they didn't gain anything from it. Unless he gave it to them. Last time he had failed, but this time he wouldn't. He would learn to do this right, then Nicolas would be pleased with him again.

With this in mind, his mouth let go of the dick, a longing moan vibrated deep in his chest. Quickly his hands made work on the condom and a bit more lube, to get this delicious body part ready. As usual, his impatience won over. Marshall withdrew from Ryan's hands and turned around, he wanted to see his friend.

"Hey, I wasn't done yet …", Ryan said with a skeptical look.

"Trust me", Marshall answered with a sanguine smile. Finding his position, he straddled his friend's lap and reached behind himself to guide the hot flesh inside him as he lowered his body down. A long moan erupted from his throat.

Instantly, Ryan's hands grabbed the pale hips and held on to them, dug his fingers into them. A raspy moan from him.

For a moment, everything was still in the room. Their breathing grew loud in the silence.

Marshall closed his eyes and savored the feel of a living, pulsing dick inside him. A whole month without this feeling seemed like torture now that he had it back. He loved sucking on one, no doubt, but this right here, right now … It was the feeling of perfect happiness permeating his whole body. As if life itself danced deep inside of him. A sensation he was always chasing after. Drugs only fooled you, made you cling to a dull shadow of this; but standing on stage and hearing the cheers of tens of thousands of people almost brought the same high as this. Almost.

Realization hit him with a pang of regret. He should've come out years ago. He should've come out back then, when he and Ryan first met and so intensely fell into each other. At least to himself he should have been honest, should have been strong and true, like he always had been with his music. Why hadn't he been able to?

"Shh, hey …", Ryan's deep voice was close to his ear. A thumb softly caressed his cheek and rubbed a tear away. "It's alright. Does it hurt?"

Marshall shook his head. "I'm fine", and he meant it more than ever in his life before. He was more than fine. Wrapping his arms around Ryan's neck, he pulled his friend into a long and sensual kiss. His hips started to roll slowly against his friend, enjoying the closeness of their bodies and the little jolts this sent through his limbs.

For a while they stayed like this, in close embrace and kissing each other intimately and heartfelt. Their hips moved slowly into each other, more to feel how close their connection was and less to rise passion. They had a bond that went far beyond attraction and it was this close bond they reveled in.

But passion caught up with them again, when Ryan grabbed Marshall's thighs hard for leverage and thrust roughly into the pale body. Loud moans stumbled from their lips still touching each other. Marshall relinquished. His arms let go of Ryan's torso, which they had held close, and he fell backward onto the bed. There was a small noise from him, as Ryan slipped out of him. More incentive to heighten the moment. He raised his legs and gripped the hollows of his knees, presenting his ass and his hole eager to be taken.

And Ryan was just as eager to take him. He pushed inside again, both of them moaned loudly, wanting more. With a strong grip he held Marshall's knees as he thrust into the slender but well-trained body.

Now free again, Marshall's hands put themselves against the headboard in a feeble attempt to steady his body against the vigorous thrusts and trying his best to meet them. Closing his eyes and throwing his head back, Marshall let himself get absorbed in their act and how they moved and felt and sounded. His voice came out of him in uncontrollable moans and groans and cries, barely able to carry the pleasure and ecstasy he felt. Ryan's deep voice, just as caught up in passion and heat, filled his ears and made his body shiver. Nothing stopped the relentless and harsh thrusting. That Marshall came, did nothing to stop the lust from soaring through his body and mind. It should never stop.

Until inevitably it had to stop as Ryan's orgasm washed over them and ebbed away. Panting, he came to rest next to Marshall on the bed and only lazy movements of his hands got rid of the condom.

Marshall just laid there for a short while not even trying to catch his breath. Didn't seem possible this second. Just staying alive with a heart beating this fast was much of a task.

"We're still awesome", Ryan proclaimed under his breath and wheezed amused. Possibly he wanted to laugh but his panting got in the way.

"Uh-hu", Marshall nodded agreeing. More coherent words weren't in his mouth right now.

A moment more passed between them and Ryan rolled on his side. He looked at Marshall, an amused grin on his lips and one of his hands rubbed fondly over the pale chest. "I bet, he don't make you speechless."

The blush on Marshall's face was instant. Nicolas made him do a lot of things …

A warm chuckle from Ryan. "Told you, I make you feel good."

That Ryan had certainly done. "Never doubted that", he said and cleared his throat. It felt dry.

"You know …", Ryan started his next sentence slowly, thoughtfully. His voice tensed up, his eyes concentrated on a spot on Marshall's neck, maybe the hickey. "How about, we start this up again as well? I mean, we speak again and are friends like we used to, we do music together again like we used to … Why not this, too?" His hand still rubbed fondly over his chest.

Marshall looked at his friend, closely examined the well-known face and its tense lines, the tattoos, the ink-black eyes. _There you have it, slut. Happy now? One more dick for your new collection. _Why not? They certainly fit together great, regardless what they did: being friends or music or sex. To spend time with each other was easy, uncomplicated, elemental and at the same time they inspired each other to push themselves further. A lot of the time they thought similar and when they didn't, that was just more opportunity to broaden their own horizons. On top of that, he appreciated their friendship much more than he used to. He had been a brash and erratic person when they met, when they had tried to develop this instant connection into a stable relationship. Today he saw, why they hadn’t worked out, back then he had only been hurt and angry. Which meant, perhaps this time they would find a good way to build their friendship and the last few months gave much hope for this. So, Marshall nodded agreeing: "Yeah, why not."

A tentative smile on Ryan's lips. "Cool."

"Cool." Marshall rolled on his stomach and bedded his head on his arms. "But if you keep me here, you gonna need to add in some fun things. This place is boring as fuck."

"Man, don't rub it in my sheets", Ryan complained and shoved Marshall's shoulder. "They're fresh."

Marshall wiggled his body a little to rub his stomach and, more importantly, his jizz into the bed sheets. "See, that's why I do motels. Other people clean this shit up. I just have my fun and then leave. Perfect."

Ryan hummed disapproving. "I have a cleaning lady. Still, you're a bit gross."

"You do? Wow, you really think your side game through, don't you." He briefly whistled impressed. "What a smart cookie you are."

"No need to make fun of me", Ryan muttered and pinched Marshall in the small of his back, before he resumed to caress the skin. "What you wanna have? I won't put a pinball machine in here."

"Why not? Killjoy", he snorted. For a moment, Marshall looked at the headboard thinking, his chin rested on his arms. A pinball machine wasn't a bad idea, perhaps he could bring one or two of his arcade machines over as well. At any rate, he needed to bring CDs over. How could they spend time here and not have any music? Impossible. Considering this being their little sex den, they possibly needed some toys for that as well. A set of handcuffs they definitely needed, maybe a pair of cockrings to really make the most of a night. "Well, if you won't, I will. Next time I come here, I'll bring some things. This place needs some life, I tell ya."

Ryan chuckled softly. "That is you speciality, after all. No doubt, you'll make this place lively."

"Oh, do I get a key?", an idea struck Marshall, "Tell me, I get a key. I gonna need a key, right?" He turned to Ryan and explained what filled his mind right now: "Maybe I wanna surprise you with something sexy. Think about it. There's gonna be a night, when I'm here early or maybe I wanna prepare something special. Maybe I wanna welcome you, make myself into a little present for you and lie here all naked except for a cockring, for you I even get one with some bling. Or I wanna give you a little treat, right, open myself up for you good, all wide and wet, so you can slide right in there no fuss. Reminds me, do you have any vibrators here? Otherwise I'll bring one or two." If he did that in the hallway, he'd only anger the neighbors and cause some sort of commotion. Since he was who he was, that only ended up on a front page or magazine cover somewhere. Headline reading: Eminem throws a sex party in the lobby. No thanks.

As an answer, Ryan nodded toward the nightstand he had pulled the condom and lube out of. Then he tilted his head, his eyes darting across Marshall's face. "You're really excited about this. Guess, I shouldn't be surprised, you've always been quite the horndog."

Marshall shrugged slightly. "So? I never was someone's side bitch before."

"Weren't you insistent on not calling it that?", Ryan asked tauntingly.

"I mean, when the shoe fits …" Wasn't like he fit the description to be a kept woman or anything fancy. Him being a dirty little secret seemed exactly right. Spending some time with his friend for hot sex with no strings attached, that was all he could accomplish. _You're a good bitch, stands to reason you make a good side bitch, too. Not a bad plan, homo, kudos._ "In this scenario, I'm the side bitch to your mistress. What do I care about her?"

Ryan's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "Wait, what?"

"Although", Marshall began thinking out loud, "It was much the same back then, too, wasn't it. I mean, you weren't married yet, but you and Mona had been in a committed relationship. So, our little stunt probably counts as an affair to that." His eyes followed the grain of the headboard's wood, while he concentrated on his train of thought. "You always draw things out and spend months with a girl, before you drop her and get a new mistress, so you only have affairs. I'm much different, right. I usually do one-night stands, maybe a short fling, a couple of weeks tops if passions run high. They usually don’t. That doesn't really count as an affair, I think, neither for me having one, nor for me being one … Almost sure, most of them are single anyway. Or if not, that them fucking around ain't a secret." Marshall weighed his head thinking back to some of the encounters he'd had over the years. "Playing it fast and loose best appeals to people, who're bad at relationships. So, my point stands firm: You're the only person I'm in an affair with. Or now, the affair to the affair. That's gonna be juicy."

"Wait, wait … What are you talking about?", Ryan asked baffled and lightly stunned. "Slow down, dude, I can't keep up. You _want_ to be someone's affair? Or the, what, affair to the affair? What's that?"

Quietly Marshall chuckled at Ryan's perplexed expression. Was a long time ago, since last he seen his friend this much out of his depth. After all, Ryan was a smart person, he even had gone to college for a time. "Easy. It's like layers, right? Deep down, the core so to speak, that's Mona, your wife, obviously. Around that is the layer of your mistress, with who you cheat on your wife. Third's me now, we're cheating on your mistress. It's like Russian nesting dolls."

"You're crazy", Ryan said dryly.

"Not gonna argue that", he agreed. Sane people wouldn't fuck their friend. _You stealin' my lines again, fag._ Or agreed to be their friend's side bitch. Or stay with a person who threatened to tear them apart. Could he give Nicolas a Christmas present, the man couldn't refuse? Something sexy and hot and provocative. Maybe Marshall could buy a collar and show it off? No, that didn't feel right.

Ryan's hand slowly rubbed across the small of Marshall's back, sometimes finding a way up to re-discover his back and shoulders. "So, you're fine with … that?"

"Sure. Ain't like you gonna leave your wife for me, don't be ridiculous", Marshall snorted amused. "You didn't back then and to hell with you if you try now. Don't even think that." He would not be responsible for the two ending their marriage. Ruining his own had been enough.

Ryan made a thoughtful humming sound. "I won't, but … You okay with me having Missy around, too?"

"You realize, all your lovers start with M?", Marshall threw in. That was an interesting coincidence.

"Don't deflect, I'm serious here. I mean, this is the same apartment I meet her in. This is the same bed I screw her on. This is the same stuff I use on her. Doesn't that feel weird to you?" Ryan's face sank into a deep frown and he sounded genuinely upset. "It's kinda fucked up, man."

Marshall grinned and leaned forward to kiss his friend dearly. "Doesn't that just prove your set-up works? Why don't you invite her over? We could do a threesome, after all you like tits and vaginas. That's kinda missing here, don't you think." Not quite what he wanted from this day, but he couldn't have Ryan missing anything, least of which things he had no control over. He hadn't been born a girl. Just because he sometimes liked to put on a dress, didn't suddenly change this.

Strongly Ryan shook his head. "No, ain't nothing missing here." He kissed him back just as deep. "I want you, muscles and cock and balls and everything."

A small smile settled on Marshall's lips. He climbed on top of Ryan and his hands slowly, softly wandered across the tattooed skin of his torso, traced some of the lines with his fingertips, teased some of the muscles twitching underneath the dark brown skin. "You have it all", he agreed in a low voice. "Besides, honestly I don't expect us to spend much time here. We're friends, we can meet whenever and wherever we want. And there's always a dark corner to fool around in. We already proved, we're excellent at finding them." He grinned amused and suggestively. This wasn't anything to worry about. On the contrary, the slightly forbidden and thrilling note of doing it in places that usually didn't see this kind of action, he liked the thought. And he remembered, his younger self had downright loved it.

Ryan's hands stroked over his thighs as he looked at Marshall, clearly thinking deeply. For a long time, he only looked at him. Wasn't he liking the idea? Wasn't he liking the gentle caress of Marshall's fingers? Finally he spoke again: "You ain't breaking up with Nicolas, huh?"

"Course not." Surprised Marshall shook his head. "Why would I?" Did he give the impression, he wanted to break up with Nicolas? He absolutely didn't. "I like him. He's a bit quirky, like me. Sure, I still have a lot of work to do, until I can really be with him, but that's okay. My therapist's gonna fix me, she's really good at that. And when she does, this", he made a hand gesture between them, "Won't be happening anymore, obviously. I don't expect that to be soon, but just as a heads up."

"Fix you?", Ryan asked. "There's nothing about you to fix."

Marshall smiled forgiving at him. "There's plenty, believe me. Most pressing right now is this cheating business. I mean, you know that this ain't right. You're married and you love your wife, yet still you fuck me. You want to fuck me on a permanent basis, even. That ain't right. That ain't normal."

Ryan knitted his eyebrows. "You joined in rather enthusiastically. You got all excited and shit. Don't act, as if I forced you or anything."

"Ain't what I mean", Marshall shook his head. "I loved it, hell, there's no question I'm gonna love it all. But, that doesn't change the fact, I have a boyfriend and I want to be faithful to him." _Keep fooling yourself, slut. This is where you belong: on some random dick._

Ryan snorted derisively. "No, you don't. You hardly spend time with him, I highly doubt you actually want him as your boyfriend. You probably only have him, so you have some guy around to fuck, when you can't find someone else. This is probably the very same thing you went back to Kim for all the fucking time. That your therapist should fix, the rest'll sort itself out i-" A hard punch into Ryan's chest pressed the air out of his lungs.

Marshall held up his fist and growled warningly: "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about." Kim had not been some sort of consolation prize and he wasn't having anyone talk about her like this. Not even a close friend like Ryan. She had been his core and he still loved her. He had hurt her deeply and she'd always tried to do the right thing. It wasn't her fault, that no amount of punishment could make Marshall learn.

Ryan clawed the spot of his chest where Marshall's fist had hit, and gasped for air. "Fuck, dude!", he panted, "That was uncalled for."

But he kept staring his friend down. "The only person allowed to trash her is me", he explained, his voice deep and simmering with anger.

"I wasn't trashing her." Ryan still rubbed the spot on his chest. "I was talking about Nicolas."

Another punch to Ryan's chest. "You don't get to do that, either, asshole. He's good to me, so you need to shut the fuck up." After all, Nicolas was still here and still cared for him, even though he had seen Marshall losing control over himself. A man like this deserved someone better. Only thing Marshall could do, was to defend him.

"All I'm saying is", Ryan pressed further and he grabbed Marshall's wrists tight. In a smooth motion he rolled them over and pinned Marshall down. "If you really wanted to be faithful, you wouldn't make out with a hooker right in front of him." Fully using his position between Marshall's legs, he rubbed his cock against the half-dried hole. "If you really wanted to be faithful, you wouldn't have begged to suck my dick." Ryan's cock filled out fast and the head got caught on the rim. The ring of muscle was pliant and easy to give way. "If you really wanted to be faithful, you wouldn't be like this", Ryan pointed out and with demonstrative slowness he pushed his dick inside Marshall. The pale body stretched toward him and a long, lewd moan spilled from Marshall's lips. "Or am I wrong?"

But Marshall's gaze was defiant and furious. "Yes, you're wrong!", he shouted and fought against the hands holding his wrists in place. With Ryan's weight, there was no escaping, but Marshall tried anyway. He always fought against the odds. "Get the fuck off of me! And get your fucking dick out of me!" A dull burn took hold of his ass. "You're wrong!"

"Yeah? Tell me, how am I wrong?", Ryan challenged him and taunted him with more forceful pushes.

"Get out!" Marshall's hips moved smoothly with the dark body and his own erection was ever present. "First of all, I didn't make out in front of him. She just sat there, that ain't a fucking crime. Fuck you!"

Ryan only sneered at him. "Don't play dumb. She's a hooker, we all know why she sat there." The bit of lube left behind from their previous fuck wasn't enough to smooth out the path for Ryan's thrusts. However, the hole was open and unresisting. "You specifically came like an hour earl-"

"Fuck off!" Marshall interrupted. His arms jerked trying to get free. "It was half an hour. Get out of me!" His hips rolled with every thrust into him.

"Don't interrupt me", Ryan put more pressure to the hold he had Marshall's wrists in, disregarding a pained hiss. "You came half an hour early to your date with your shitty boyfriend, so you could fuck with the hooker first. That doesn't sound like you want to be faithful, does it?" He was still thrusting and pushing callously into the under equipped hole and with a particularly strong and well angled push he hit Marshall's prostate. The pale body arched upward and a tremble rushed through the limbs. "It sounds like you want him to catch you red-handed."

"Of course I fucking don't!", Marshall exclaimed, panting heavily under the persistent thrusts and the ineffective exertion to free his hands. "Get your fucking dick out!" The dull burn was growing more intense. So was a pressure behind his eyes. "Fuck you!"

"Stop lying", Ryan snarled. "You begged to have my dick in your throat. Twice. You're ecstatic to be my side bitch, your own words. That doesn't sound like you want to be faithful, does it?" Another strong push and he hit Marshall's prostate again. The pale body arched upward and a tremble rushed through the limbs. A cry as Marshall came. "Hear that? That's the sound of someone who loves fucking around."

Still fighting against the hard grip around his wrists, Marshall stared mean and angry at Ryan. "Fuck! You!", he spit with an acidic tone. His friend couldn't do this, couldn't see this. Wasn't his lecherousness exposed enough, yet? "Get! Your Fucking! Dick! Out!"

"It's like they say, it takes one to know one", Ryan went on, still thrusting into the ass. "You do these things on purpose. You can't fool me, I fucking know you." He sped up his rhythm to chase his own orgasm.

"Fuck you! Asshole!", Marshall kept shouting and twisted his body still in fight to get free from Ryan's hold. "If you don't pull out, I'm gonna bite it off!"

This threat worked, for Ryan pulled out his dick from the roughed up hole. But he was still eager to reach his own climax and the white fluid hit Marshall's stomach, where it mixed with his own and painted over the tattoo around his naval.

"Fuck you!", Marshall repeated, his voice a mixture of anger and relief.

A smirk on Ryan's lips. He bend down and kissed Marshall. "We're not so different after all, that's why we fit together so well."

Marshall growled guttural. "At least I care about that I'm hurting him! You sneak around and stab her in the back, but to her face you tell her, you love her. How's that better?" Finally his hands were free, so Marshall pushed Ryan off of him and pressed his own body against the headboard.

"That's my problem, not yours", Ryan answered and climbed out of the bed. "But at least I don't lie to myself and go around telling myself, I'd be some sort of model husband _if only_ I could stop sleeping around. I don't want to stop. I like this." He went to the door and one more time his eyes pierced into Marshall. "And so do you." Then he left the bedroom.

"Hey! You can't just leave!", Marshall shouted after him. He jumped off the bed and hissed in the same movement. The burn was there, lingering patiently. Disregarding his body's warning, he followed his friend into the kitchen. "She ain't dumb, she knows that, too. That's what makes you an asshole. Either have the decency to divorce her, or stop your fucking bullshit."

Ryan took a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Oh, like you? How did that go for you? You still ended up back together with Kim all the fucking time. And even now, when you're finally rid of her, you find the same person, just with a dick."

"They're not the same fucking person!" Marshall snatched the bottle of water out of his friend's hands and drank from it. At once, he spit the clear liquid out again, snorting a spray across the counter. The sharp sting of alcohol lingered on his lips. "Fuck, Dude! This is vodka!" With the back of his hand he wiped over his mouth. "Goddamnit, get your fucking booze out of my face."

"Then don't drink my stuff", Ryan huffed and took the bottle back.

Grumbling, Marshall looked into the fridge and found a bottle of water with actual real water in it. The cool liquid ran down his throat, stabbing him along the way with its tiny icy crystals. Greedily he gulped down the water, only by quenching it, he realized how thirsty he had been. The coolness not just froze the insides of his chest, but it also cooled down his temper. Why were they fighting? This wouldn't change anything. Ryan wouldn't leave his wife, but he also wouldn't stop with his mistress. Either way, it wasn't Marshall's place to get involved, not as a friend and surely not as someone, who had not done this right himself. At the same time, nothing said or done here would make him break up with Nicolas. If Kim's threat couldn't do it, if Nicolas's threat couldn't do it, nothing would.

With a relieved gasp he sat the empty bottle down. Now calmer he spoke again: "You're wrong, you know. I want him to be my boyfriend. That's exactly why I don't want to hurt him." Admittedly, he fucked that one up pretty bad.

"I don't believe you", Ryan answered in a grave tone, nonchalantly leaning against the counter. "If that was true, you wouldn't be here. Or at least, you wouldn't be so excited to be my … side bitch, as you put it." He frowned, as he said those two words.

Marshall smirked at him. "You can say it normally. It's just a word, I don't mind."

The frown remained. "I don't know, it feels weird. You said it kinda serious?"

"When the shoe fits", he shrugged. "Ain't like this is a real thing or whatever. It's just some sex, preferably hot and dirty. I think, it's the perfect word for that."

Ryan grumbled ill-humored. "If you say so … What you call Nicolas?"

"Nothing", he blinked bewildered. "Why would I?"

"I don't know. Pet names? Dirty talk? You're a creative guy", Ryan shrugged briefly, "Thought that extends to sex, too. You know, the heat of the moment and all that."

"Oh that, yeah, he sometimes calls me slu-", he slapped his hand over his mouth, but much of the syllable had already been heard.

"Slut, really?" Ryan raised his eyebrows questioningly. "You put the skirt on for him more often?"

"No", Marshall growled embarrassed. "It's just some stupid dirty talk, man."

Ryan nodded understandingly. "I get that. But I wouldn't have thought, calling you a slut or a bitch or whatever turns you on. Huh, maybe Denaun had a point."

Marshall groaned annoyed. Couldn't he just forget that awful conversation? "No, he didn’t. Forget this, aight."

"You sure?", Ryan asked and tilted his head thinking.

"Yes, I'm a hundred percent sure. Make it two-hundred percent. How d'you even know what Denaun's thinking?" Marshall became a little flustered. This was a weird turn of events.

Ryan's eyes examined him intensely. Nothing new, but now it felt more grating and more uncomfortable. "We talked about it. I thought, he went a bit off with that one, but … Maybe he's right. You can be a bit girly sometimes."

Frustrated Marshall threw his hands in the air. "Why's everyone thinking I'm a girl, lately? I'm gay, that's it."

"Everyone?"

"Don't you even start, aight", he warned his friend, stabbing the air with his index finger. "And I'm not, I repeat, I am not girly."

Ryan smirked amused. "Yes, you are. Like a couple hours ago you bought a unicorn cookie cutter set. It was pink and with glitter. Can't get more girly than that."

"For my daughter", he defended himself. "She has every right to girly shit like that."

"Sure, but you'd like to bake those unicorn cookies with her. Instead of Kim."

Marshall folded his arms in front of his chest. "I like to spend time with my daughters, there's nothing wrong or girly about that. It's called parenting, jerk."

"Sure, yet you sounded rather excited about the frosting and all that. You sounded like you already had the colors picked out and shit." Ryan made a step toward him.

"Because she'll like it", he explained. "She's eight, they all like bright colors."

"Of course, of course", Ryan didn't sound at all convinced. "You have an apron?"

Marshall pressed his lips together. "That ain't girly, that's kitchen etiquette."

Ryan chuckled and made another step toward him. Now they stood only an inch away from each other. "Sure, and you're so big on etiquette."

"Shut up", he snapped.

"You know … You were pretty hot in that skirt", Ryan lowered his voice to a raspy whisper.

A hot shiver went down Marshall's spine and warmth settled into his cheeks. "It was just a Halloween costume", he muttered.

"Was it?", Ryan asked, clearly thinking differently. He leaned even closer in to Marshall. "Don't you wanna put it on more often? You seemed to like it. You seemed to wear it rather … natural. Don't you wanna show me, what a gorgeous side bitch I snagged?" His lips ever so slightly brushed over Marshall's as he spoke.

Hard Marshall swallowed. "I … I don't always do, what I want."

"You only do, what you want", Ryan said softly. "I admire that about you, you know." With small movements his fingers caressed Marshall's sides.

Slightly Marshall shook his head. "I'm not that good of a person …" His own hands came to rest on Ryan's arms, which he stroked gently. "I want too many things and … and I end up with nothing." He was living on borrowed time. Soon Nicolas would have enough of him. At the bar the other night, he had practically attacked his boyfriend because he couldn't control himself. How many more times could Nicolas bear witness to his debauched truth? When would he find out, that Marshall gave himself over to everyone?

"What's that supposed to mean?", Ryan asked with a pensive frown.

"Well …", Marshall started to explain and wrapped his arms around Ryan's neck. He pulled his friend closer in. "It's obvious, really. I want Nicolas. Hell, I can hardly be in the same room as him and not throw myself on his dick …"

"I noticed", Ryan interrupted in a sour tone.

He softly kissed his friend's lips. "But I also love to have sex with you", he went on and grinded their hips together. "I totally love being your side bitch, that's just perfect. Don't you think?"

"Really?", Ryan asked skeptical.

One of Marshall's hands fondly followed the tattoos on Ryan's neck and chest. "Yeah. In the end though, I still find my way to a hooker or some nameless hook-up. I always do." Another kiss.

"Why?", Ryan wanted to know.

Marshall shrugged briefly. "I don't know." It was the easiest with a hooker, after all he payed them and even if he did bad, they couldn't tell him. A hooker would never tell him, how ugly or useless or how much of a nobody he was. It was their job to make him feel good. But it was an illusion and he had only so much strength to pretend it was true. Then he went with someone else. Why he was this way? He didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to know. Possibly, it was only a sign of something bigger, of something deeper. The itching of a scar barley healed and he had forgotten how it gotten there.

Honestly, he didn't want his therapist to find an answer. It couldn't be anything good. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. He rather live lonely and hated, than know once and for all that he'd be forever broken.

Ryan tilted his head and his hands caressed Marshall's cheeks and his neck. "Is it cause of the sex? Is it not enough? I mean, you can be … demanding sometimes. You've always had much of an appetite and judging by how much his sex-embargo annoyed you, that hasn't changed much. Hm?"

Marshall snorted dismissively. "No, I don't have a _demanding appetite_ or whatever." His hand had found its way onto Ryan's back and could absolutely not help itself to grope this fine ass. "Shit, you sound like Kim. Can you believe, she actually accused me once of being a sex addict or a porn addict or whatever." Stupid woman. Sometimes he really couldn't follow her train of thought. Wasn't like he had wanted to have sex with her. If she thought, they had done it too often, that wasn't his fault.

"I can believe that", Ryan said amused and kissed him briefly. "Don't you think, she has a point? You just said, you want to have sex with me and with Nicolas and with a hooker and a hook-up. Sounds rather insatiable, right?"

Of course Marshall kissed him back intimately. "I didn't say, all of you at once." Then he halted and hummed thinking. "Although, now that I say it out loud …"

"Forget it", Ryan shook his head immediately. "I can't stand that guy, I ain't sharing a bed with him. No way. Forget it."

Marshall cocked his head. "Why not? He's cool, really. And pretty amazing in bed."

"No, he ain't", Ryan bristled angrily. "He's a brutal asshole and you look at him through rose-colored glasses, man. I get, that you find him sexy as hell, but that ain't a reason to suffer through this shit." He leaned his forehead against Marshall's and his voice strained under the pressure of not raising again. "He beats you so hard, you can't sit no more. He ties you up so bad, you bleed. He controls what you drink, what else is he forcing on you? He makes you cry for hours. But still, you're defending him. Please don't, aight … You deserve better."

Instantly, Marshall's ears heated up as the last three words hit them. He embraced Ryan once more and kissed him long and heartfelt. "It's not like you think", he said reassuringly as their lips parted just a bit. "It really ain't like that, aight. He hasn't done anything, I wasn't okay with."

"You want to be a mess like that?", Ryan asked unbelieving. "How's that okay? What the hell did she do to you?"

Marshall sighed deeply. Why was Ryan so insistent to put the blame on her? After all, it had been him who had messed up their relationship. He didn't treat her right. He couldn't satisfy her. All he did was hurt her, lie to her, infuriate her. And he never learned to do better.

But before he could answer, Ryan went on with a low but pressing voice: "You need to break up with him, you know that. He ain't good. And you two just started dating, but he's already so … What'll happen with you, when you guys are together six months or a year? You gonna end up in a hospital, that's for sure. How can you want that? Did you ask him to do that to you?" Ryan looked at him, finally waiting for him to answer.

"Well, not in so many words …", Marshall answered vague. "It's something he likes, I don't judge." He brought their hips together again, more vigorously this time. "If he wants to do that, sure he can, you know." After all, this was what Marshall was here for. This was the only thing he was good for.

Ryan shook his head. "No, he can't. You shouldn't let him, or at least not only because he likes it. What about you? What you want also needs to count, he can't just dismiss you like that."

A warm, fond smile crept onto Marshall's lips. "He doesn't, really. He's actually pretty sweet most of the time."

"Not that I can see", Ryan negated the observation instantly. "And even if, that don't change the fact, you don't want this, but he makes you regardless."

Marshall tilted his head and frowned deeply. "How you know, what I want and don't want?" He didn't put too much stock in the how's of sex, so if he didn't see much of a difference, how could he want something different?

"Dude, I know you", Ryan explained. "You're brazen and audacious and reckless. You always take what you want, regardless the consequences. I mean, the whole cutesy act today? I know, you only put that on for my benefit, cause I like my women cute. You wanted me to fuck you and you very well know, I can't resist your big blue eyes." Ryan held up his fingertips for Marshall to see light rose colored smudges. "Sorry I smeared your make-up", he didn't sound sorry at all. "You did the same shit in the past. That's how I know."

So Ryan had seen through his act? He had been so careful not to overdo it with the rouge, only very light rose to give his cheeks just a tiny bit of color. Less is often more, after all. But this wasn't a satisfying answer. Marshall kept frowning at his friend. "Still doesn't explain why I couldn't like Nicolas's thing."

This time it was Ryan who sighed deeply. "Because he really made you cry. That wasn't an act, you cried truly and deeply hurt. That's something you never fake."

"Huh, you think you have me all figured out, don't you."

Ryan shrugged as an answer. "I just want you to be happy, you know. You deserve better."

Marshall lowered his voice, part in warning and part in grief. "You ain't _him_. Don't act like _him_."

"I'm not trying to", Ryan said certain. He pulled their bodies close, their bare skin touched everywhere. "_He_ would never make you an offer like this: Break up with Nicolas, kiss that asshole goodbye for good … I'll stay with you. I'm your friend and the sex between us is great. And - And if you demand more than I can give, I won't get jealous if you go to a hooker. I promise."

Marshall's heart tightened and his lungs contracted. It was hard to not get washed away by memories. Easy to drown in a sea of pictures and moments, when his best friend had been by his side, who always had his back even when he acted foolish again, when he fucked things up again. His best friend had stood by his side, holding him up and keeping him safe, when he himself had been unable to. It felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like he had heard his voice just a second ago.

But _he_ had never made an offer like this.

Shaking his head, Marshall pushed his luck: "What if I don't want a hooker on the side, but Nicolas?" One of his hands stroked down Ryan's body again, with a clear goal in mind. "What if Nicolas gives me the things I want?" Ryan was too sincere and too close a friend that he could say words like these and mean them. "What if Nicolas gives me those things better?" His fingers laid themselves around Ryan's cock and pumped life back into it. They weren't done yet. "What if Nicolas knows how to fuck me six ways from Sunday?" Ryan was already closer to him than anyone else still living, that had to be enough. "What if Nicolas is really the person I want?" There wasn't anything left in him to break for when he lost a best friend again. He could only keep together so many pieces to stay alive. "What if I'm Nicolas's main bitch and he'll always be first?" Only one piece in him was still intact and he needed for Ryan to wreck it. His friend needed to finish the job he had started over a decade ago and wear his hole down for good.

Ryan snarled. He pulled Marshall into a rough kiss, vandalizing his mouth. "You don't need him, you'll see. I'll fuck him out of you." With a smooth motion, he turned Marshall around and not a second later did he bury his dick inside that firm, white ass.

Marshall groaned between lust and pain, bracing himself against the counter. "You can try", he managed to sound taunting. "But only with a condom."

"Oh, fuck that", Ryan dismissed and started a harsh rhythm. "Ain't like I can knock you up. You may like to be a girl, but you ain't."

The burn got hot and hurt. Good. Marshall gasped for air. His body was pressed against the hard edge of the counter, etching into his bones. Every new dry thrust pushed him harder against the stone top. "Make me all the babies you want", words tumbled out between gasps and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. What was he trying to say? Right. "But don't spread your germs inside me, bastard."

"If you want my babies, that's what I'll need to do", Ryan said amused.

The sound of their flesh clapping against each other filled the kitchen. "No condom, no fucking! I don't need to catch anything your mistress brought along or some shit." He hauled off to struck his friend with a hard blow. A few times he hit Ryan's arm, putting his muscles into it and aiming for the same spot so it really hurt.

"Ow! Fuck, man! Aight!" Ryan pulled out and stepped to the side, rubbing his arm. "That wasn't necessary."

Marshall growled low and collected himself from the counter. "I told you, I'll bite it off."

Ryan flipped him off. "Fuck you, I'm healthy as a horse."

"How would I know?" Marshall rubbed his hips, where the edge of the counter had bitten into. That would leave a bruise. "Do I know where you stick your dick? Or who else sticks his dick in those holes, too? No, I don't."

Ryan cocked his head quizzically. "Yeah, you do."

"Look, it's for your benefit, too. You don't know who I fuck with, either."

"Course I know", Ryan disagreed immediately. "It's me, obviously, and Nicolas, unfortunately, and that hooker and this crazy guy from the other night, who attacked you", with each person he named, he counted his fingers. "There, I know", he held up four fingers, "That's who you fuck."

But Marshall rolled his eyes. "Didn't you just tell me, you know me better than this?"

Ryan raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What's your point?"

"I'm trying to settle down. Well, a bit. You know, being sober now and stuff, I'm kinda growing up", he shrugged briefly. "My point is, I'm trying to hold myself back and be more like a normal person, right. But, as you should know, I'm bad at controlling my impulses. So, until my therapist fixed me, that", and he held up his own four fingers, "is only like last month or so. A slow month on purpose."

"You're proud of that?", Ryan asked skeptical, probably making fun of him.

Marshall weighed his head. "Not from either point of view, no."

"Either point of view?", Ryan asked curious and bemused. "What you mean by that?"

"Ain't that obvious? For trying to be mature and in a committed relationship, four is way too many", Marshall explained what really should be self-evident. "And compared to stuff in the past, it's quite lame. I remember days more exciting, so." Not a past he necessarily wanted to go back to, but some of the thrills he did miss. But, life moved on and he couldn't keep doing the same shit with almost forty that he had done in his mid-twenties. That just didn't work. Marshall turned away from the counter and went back to the bedroom. "Just put the damn condom on. That ain't so fucking hard."

Ryan followed him. "More exciting? I can give you that." He took the package of condoms and prepared himself. "Know what, I ain't just gonna fuck you so good, you forget that asshole, I'ma fuck you so good, you won't remember any of those faces, either. It's all gonna be me, wait for it."

Chuckling, Marshall threw himself on the bed. "Won't be difficult, I hardly remember most their faces as is." He took the bottle of lube to re-slick his hole. Ryan's attack in the kitchen had made clear, it absolutely needed that for another round. The touch of his fingers stung, but the cool gel actually eased some of its force. Awaiting his friend, he kneeled in front of the headboard and his hands gripped firmly its top. He wiggled his ass teasingly. "This good for you? You sound, like you wanna let off some steam." And turn this round into one hell of a pounding. The thought made his nerves tingle all over.

Ryan climbed on the bed, right behind Marshall. A rough grip in Marshall's hair yanked him back, so Ryan could speak close to his ear: "Let's see, how long you won't be able to sit thanks to me." The dark voice brought a shiver up Marshall's spine. "Side bitch." Marshall moaned as the words hit his ears. The next second, his friend's hard dick thrust rough into his hole and a lewd moan burst loudly from his lips. The rhythm grew harsh fast, relentless and they didn't stop.


	39. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Marshall comes home from his night out with Ryan, his daughters waited for him.

There was a small buzzing in the room. An annoying buzz. He wanted to sleep for fuck's sake. Every bone in his body was heavy and sore and, just, so exhausted. Grumbling with a dry throat, he rolled onto his other side. Perhaps this would shut the buzzing out … Naturally it didn't, only a throbbing, burning pain set in. Or it might have been there forever, who knew. Keeping his eyes shut in hope of sleep, he pulled himself to the edge of his bed and reached out for his nightstand. Marshall didn't know what he hoped to find there, but just something to shut this buzzing off and maybe the vibration from the bed, too. He needed to sleep. Wait, his bed could vibrate? His hand groped the air, but didn't find his night stand. More grumbling. Was it worth opening his eyes for? He could just give up and try to ignore the quiet buzz … Marshall laid down into the satin sheets and took a deep breath as an invitation for sleep.

Nope. No sleep, only annoying buzzing. Was there a fly here somewhere? Defeated he dragged a hand over his face and slowly opened his eyes. Darkness. He blinked. Did he go blind? Had he finally found the critical mass of masturbation for this to happen? A quiet chuckle, too loud in the room. Marshall groaned. Again, he reached out for his nightstand and as his fingers found the wall, his first impulse was to sigh in relief he found anything. But he remembered, his bed didn't stand against a wall. Weird.

There! A wooden edge, a flat surface, the shape of a lamp. Marshall closed his eyes again and hid his face in the crook of his elbow, when he turned the light on. It still stung. Another groan.

He let himself fall onto his back and a sharp pain roared for a second. What did he do last night? But his thoughts were as heavy as his body. It would come eventually, no worries. Or maybe it wouldn’t, but he probably wouldn’t miss anything important. For a moment, he rubbed his hands over his face. If he wasn't going to sleep thanks to this annoying fly, at least he could wake up for good. Not sold on his own idea, he opened his eyes and stared against the ceiling. A singsong that it knew exactly what he had done and that he shouldn't be proud of it. Well, that wasn't much of a hint. What had he to be proud of?

He looked to his side, to the nightstand and frowned. The yellow light revealed a small, beige table on which it stood. That wasn't his. Now he registered the light blue of the sheets. Those weren't his either.

Had he fallen asleep in a motel again? An annoyed snort was all this was worth. Then, the buzzing probably was from some half-broken appliance, perhaps the air conditioning. Or the vibrating bed itself. There had to be a switch somewhere to turn this off. His eyes searched the table, but except for the lamp nothing was there.

The shadow of a plan formed in his mind: Take a piss, get dressed and then leave. In his own bed he might be able to sleep. At least nothing buzzed or vibrated there, least of which his bed. Who wanted that anyway? Fucking people.

Laborious and unnecessarily awkward he rolled himself out of the bed in pursuit of putting his thoughts into actions. But his legs trembled for a second and then collapsed under him. Marshall fell to his knees. A short cry left him as pain raced up his spine and something hard shoved itself deeper into him.

"Fuck!"

Feeling too stiff for contortions like this, he reached behind himself and grabbed the base of the goddamned vibrator stuck in his ass. With too much force and the resulting gasp of more pain, he yanked it out of himself and threw it to the ground. The toy happily buzzed on.

What. Did. He. Do? Wasn't he above this now? Waking up in some random bed, left-behind after fucking senseless, too fucked up to even stand. Hadn't he vowed to quit this shit? Apparently, he would never change.

Marshall leaned back and rested his head against the bed. Inhale deeply … and exhale. The air was stale. It smelled like cold sweat, old sex and too much deodorant. Heaving himself up from the edge of the bed, he managed to stand on shaky legs and expected to fall down again any second. But hey, at least he stood for now. A moment he looked down on the bed and tried hard to remember how he had gotten here. He remembered a muscular body, dark skin, shitton of tattoos, the feeling of safety … Ryan.

"Really? Fucking bastard", he muttered raspy. "So much for being nice." At least Nicolas stayed with him until he could move again and even checked in on him afterward. That was nice. This shit on the other hand was just nasty. Marshall decided to take his piss right here on the bed then. If Ryan left him - a friend and also someone who he wanted to fuck more frequently - like a used up toy for himself to put his discarded pieces together again, well, that's what happened. Hadn't he served Ryan well? If the throbbing pain in his ass was anything to go by, he had served his friend remarkably good.

With small steps, slow movements and sluggish hands, he collected his clothes from the floor and put them on his body again. Meanwhile he tried to remember more from last night. Hadn't they started out with waffles? He remembered waffles. Yes, the Christmas market. Like expected, acting cute around Ryan still worked like a charm. He might have lost his babyface somewhen a long the way, but blue eyes and a little blush always worked. They had ended up in Ryan's shagging shack, so to speak, not a motel. Wasn't that much better, tsk. The first round had been mostly slow and gentle, followed by a fight and angry sex … About what? That he wanted to be Ryan's side bitch and his friend didn't - no, his friend wanted that, too. What had they fought about? Who cared! The third round had been hard and rough, just raw fucking, that's how Marshall liked it the most. Ryan thought he was sneaky with the vodka in his water bottle, guess again. When you kept kissing, that would blow your cover real quick. Drunk and high people were the stupidest, really. Then a fourth round even, Marshall was impressed with himself for getting it up.

He put the jewelry back around his neck and his wrist. His watch said: 2:57 AM. Great, his favorite time of the day. After that … Marshall stopped in the middle of picking up his coat from the couch in the living room. He had wanted a fifth round? Really? Shit, he was getting into old habits again. Not sure if this was his memory or him knowing himself, but he would not have gotten it up again for a fifth round in the span of a short couple of hours. Not without some pill-shaped help, at least. Which he was almost completely certain they hadn't taken. Had Ryan more stamina? Considering the vodka in his water bottle, probably not. That might explain the vibrator. Ryan wasn't much into toys as far as he knew, but beggars can't be choosers. In all likelihood he had egged Ryan on until his friend did something - anything that could be considered fucking. How had it gotten stuck in him, though?

Marshall raided the fridge for a bottle of water and made sure it actually was water, then he left the apartment. Standing in the elevator, more accurately he leaned against the wall and was even too tired to fall over, his hands searched the pockets of his jacket for his phone, because he really needed to call Big Eight. He had no clue where his car was and he was in no shape to drive. He wasn't even in shape to stand upright. A disdained snort for himself. No phone. Curses.

The high pitched ping of the elevator was too sharp. He stepped out and left the building as well. Where was this? Any taxi nearby? Or a bus? Or a phone booth? In the darkness of the night he didn't see much, the street lights only illuminated small portions of the sidewalk, grey islands on top of vast blackness. Nothing but the snow seemed to exist, a bluish white that glowed eerily in the night. Marshall pulled the hood of his coat on as well and buried his hands in his pockets. The night was freezing. Then he shuffled along in slow steps, his body aching and his legs still shaky, but they needed to work now, they just needed to. Any direction was fine.

Occupying his mind with the last riddle of this night. Where was Ryan? Why had he left him behind like this? Chaotic whispers of a discussion in his ears: sorry - I need to go - she should be - I promised to be home for dinner - sorry - I can take care of myself - she's mad - you should go - sorry - I finish you up real quick - she's waiting for you - I should go now - sorry - I'm fine - stay, aight, please stay - you need to go - sorry - I know

Marshall wiped a hand over his face, cold from the wind biting into his skin and drying the tears as soon as they dropped on his cheeks. That's what side bitches got, a rushed goodbye and a mess to clean up. The best sex in the world wouldn't change this, so what hope did he have of getting better treatment? Friends or no friends.

Even though it happened in slow motion, Marshall couldn't do anything to stop it. His feet tripped over themselves, he lost balance completely and fell down on his face. His hands didn't make it out of the warm pockets fast enough and possibly, they didn't want to. He wouldn't want to be in this cold, either. A small sigh left him and he tried to heave himself up again, but he couldn't. He was too tired and too sore, there was no way he could control his body and make it move. Resigning, he just laid there on the icy asphalt. From experience he knew, at some point you didn't feel the cold anymore. Usually a sign you were too damn cold, but right now, even that sounded like relief. He closed his eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?", a male voice asked above him. "Are you drunk? Hey, you can't sleep here, man." Two hands grabbed him and heaved him up and Marshall wanted to help, he did. This wasn't a place to sleep, he knew that. It was just so fucking hard.

"No", he said with frozen lips. They barely rounded for the o-sound.

"That's what they all say, isn't it", the voice kept speaking. The man managed to get his arm around Marshall's waist and held him up like this. He was a tall man. Every-fucking-one was taller than him, shit. "Come, let's get you inside, alright?"

Marshall nodded weakly. "Whatever." Inside sounded like it wouldn't be cold anymore, that sounded nice. He had not been cold at one point. Right? Oh, he knew, with Ryan it hadn't been cold. And with Nicolas it was downright hot, that man radiated warmth. Where was he now? Why wasn't he looking after Marshall? He was good at that.

The man dragged him along the street and Marshall tried to move his feet in a walking motion, but he thought that looked rather pitiful. Even at the most basic human things he failed. Walking. Every two-year old could walk, but he of course was a disaster on two feet. Fucking shit.

"What were you doing out here? You could've frozen to death there, you know", the man tried to engage him in a conversation.

Marshall shrugged briefly. "Couldn't get up", he answered honestly. "Couldn't get _it_ up either, so, just deserts or some shit."

"You don't come to this part of town often, do you?", the man asked more and dragged him further along. "I kinda know everyone around here."

A short shake of his head. "Don't know where this is." This wasn't the street his house stood on, that was sure. It also wasn't the street his old house stood on, there he would've known his way in the dark, even blind. Was it still empty? He couldn't blame people for not wanting to live there, he hadn't wanted to live there either. But who asked him?

"No? How did you come here then?", the man kept asking. Nosy, wasn't he.

"Came with him. He's gone now, to his wife", Marshall explained his night. Had been a good night, mostly. If Ryan hadn't just left him behind. He groaned, as he tripped again and almost fell again. His sore flesh protested vehemently. Would've been a good night, if he knew when to stop. "Five rounds, God, feels like a truck can make a U-turn in there."

A sympathetic nod. "Sounds rough. Come, over here", the man dragged him around a corner. "I'm going to call you a cab and that'll take you home, okay? You can't work like this, not tonight. And probably not tomorrow, either."

"Just, sleep", he muttered and pressed himself against the warm body next to him. "So fucking tired."

"I know, just a bit more", the man assured him and rubbed his shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Marshall." Probably a bit more meant a lot more. It usually meant that.

They stopped. "I'm Worick. Here, we're almost there." A staircase reached into the house, a door at the top. "Only a few steps now. Get your feet high, okay?"

Marshall sighed deeply. Stairs, really? His luck was the worst. "Aight", he mumbled. How was he supposed to get these feet high? They felt as if they were made out of lead. Wasn't that poisonous? Great, his own body was poisoning him. Judging by the throbbing pain everywhere, it might finish him off sooner.

At last, he was dropped down on a couch. Finally! He stretched out and lay on his stomach, his ass was too sore for sitting. The man was still talking, but it didn't seem to be directed at him. There also was a female voice. Well, then they could entertain each other, Marshall really was spent. Sluts had limits, too, he would have them know.

Just sleep now. No buzzing fly anywhere, the bed wasn't vibrating - Wait, not a bed, the vibrator. Right. Anyway, not here, his hole was empty. It was, wasn't it … Marshall sighed deeply. He didn't want to be empty no more. Not empty, not alone, not useless. Hadn't he done enough? When was he allowed to be a person again? Had he ever been one? Marshall couldn't say. He didn't remember. There was a lot, he didn't remember. But the things he desperately wanted to forget, those were engraved into his brain. She yelled at him how disgusting he was, how useless he was, how she wanted him dead … He had tried! But he was afraid of the silence.

A soft hand stroked over his head. "Honey?", a female voice asked carefully. "Honey? Come, wake up, just for a moment. Your cab is here. You'll be home soon, I promise. Honey?"

Exhausted he groaned. His muscles strained as he heaved himself up and into a sitting position. Only pain. So, he was still alive then. Was this good? He couldn't tell anymore. "What?", he asked and his voice was raw. Everything was.

"You're going home", she said. A shy look from blue eyes, a sorrowful frown on her face. Her skin was beautiful, brown and smooth like silk. Black hair framed her face like a picture. Somehow he thought, he knew her voice. "Honey? Can you hear me? You're going home, alright?" Her breasts moved with every syllable, the t-shirt hardly enough to contain them.

Marshall nodded slightly. "Home", that sounded good. He rubbed his face to wake himself up. He needed to go home, she was right. What time was it? He needed to cook his daughters something, probably. It was always time for that.

A tall man came to them and kneeled in front of the couch. An eyepatch? But he certainly could wear it. Long blond hair fell down to his shoulders and the blue eye visible was very alert. "Here, take this", he said and pressed a cell phone into Marshall's hands. "My number is already dialed. When you get home, call me, okay? When you don't get home, call me, okay?"

"Thank you", Marshall nodded. "For everything. You don't have to."

"Nonsense, we look after each other. It's dangerous on the streets." The man - he knew the name, didn't he? - smiled at him. He smelled like cigarettes. "What will you do, Marshall?", he asked. Always asking.

"Call you", he repeated. "I call you." He gripped the phone tighter, so he wouldn't lose it. After all, he knew himself, he was clumsy enough to lose someone being so nice to him.

"Very good", the man, no, Worick said pleased. "Then, let's go and get you home." He wrapped his arms around Marshall and helped him up.

Marshall tried hard to pull himself together. It was terrible enough that he was a burden on his family and his friends, but some nice and friendly stranger? Unacceptable. So he concentrated hard on his legs, to move them how he knew walking worked. Should work at least, he did a terrible job. Finally, he sat in the taxi. He hated sitting, Marshall decided.

"Marshall, what will you do?", Worick asked again, ready to close the car door for him.

Oh, he knew the answer and showed the phone his fingers clenched around. "I call you."

"Very good", Worick nodded pleased. "Hear you soon." The car door closed.

They drove away.

* * *

It took him three attempts before the car door finally swung open. Tightly his hands gripped the door, as he climbed out of it. Leaning on the metal helped to find a steady stance. Or what went for steady tonight. As he shut the car door, he realized this wasn't one of his. He knocked against the passenger side window and it rolled down. "What you get from me?", he asked and tried to squeeze his fingers into his jeans pocket, but it wasn't a good fit. That he didn't drop the cell phone was more important.

"It's alright. Your friend payed already", the driver said.

Good, then. But he groaned annoyed. He still had to get his hand into the pocket, his keys. Damnit.

The car pulled away and drove off.

Marshall stood in front of his gate and fumbled his keys out, opened the gate and squeezed through. It always felt weird to do this by foot. Especially if your feet felt this funny to begin with. However, he was home now.

With unstable steps he walked up his driveway. He pressed the green button of the phone and listened for the dialing tone. After the second, someone answered the call. "Yes? Marshall, did you get home?" Worick.

Marshall nodded. "I'm home. I call you."

"Very good", Worick said pleased. "Now, go to bed and have a good night's rest. And I don't want to see you work tomorrow, you hear me?"

"No work tomorrow", he repeated.

"Exactly", Worick said pleased again. "No work, and I mean it, not a single client. Even if you think a blowjob's fine, no. Not even a handjob, nothing. Give yourself some rest."

Marshall blinked and halted for a moment in the middle of his driveway. What? That didn't sound right. "But I-"

"No work", Worick interrupted him.

Marshall sighed. "Aight, no work." He probably deserved to be mistaken for a whore. The difference wasn't big anyway. Huh, wasn't even the first time this week, he realized.

Yes, his old habits were in full force again.

"Good. Then now, go to bed. Good night, Marshall." The call ended.

He stood in front of his door, keys still in hand. He had been clever enough to not put them back into his pockets. There was something to be proud of. So, he opened the door and stepped into his foyer. Everything was dark and gray, mostly memory told his eyes were the furniture should stand. Doubtful he looked up the stairs. Nope, he wouldn't do that.

Not everything was dark. There was a small glimmer of light coming from underneath the living room door. Curious. The light was right, it was the best room for some rest now. A short nap to get at least some strength back, that was exactly what he needed.

When he entered his living room, he smiled a little. Lainy and Hailie had fallen asleep in front of the TV, rolled tightly into their blankets. If they had been younger and if he had felt stronger, he would've simply carried them up into their own beds. But tonight he couldn't even do that for himself. So, he kneeled in front of the couch, because sitting really was worse than walking, and with a soft voice and a soft touch he tried to wake them up. "Hey you two, you should go to bed. It's late."

Sleepy Hailie rubbed her eyes and blinked at him. "Dad!", she exclaimed and threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Daddy, you're home."

Perplexed he caught her, his arms automatically embracing and holding her.

"Dad", Lainy rushed to hug him just the same. "You really gave us a scare there."

What was this? "Yeah, it's me?" A crucial piece of information was missing from him, clearly. "Why aren't you guys in bed?"

"You didn't come home", Hailie said in an accusing, worried tone and still hugged his neck.

"And then Big Eight called and asked, if you were home", Lainy continued just as distressed as her sister.

Instantly, he pulled both girls into long, heartfelt hugs. "I'm so sorry." He had been out way longer than expected and he had totally forgotten to call in home. How had he forgotten? He had messed up big time. "I'm so, so sorry." Comfortingly he rubbed their backs and kissed their heads repeatedly. It was a feeble attempt to console them and take away the scare he had given them. They shouldn't worry about him and yet, this. "I'm just so sorry." What else could he say?

He felt Hailie nod, her blond hair tickling his neck. "It's okay. We know."

No, it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. "I'm here now, I am. You can go to bed, it's late." A good night's sleep would do wonders for all of them.

"But Dad", Lainy tried to interject.

He didn't let her finish. "It's late, go to bed. I'm here and I'm gonna be here when you wake up again. I promise. I'll be right there in the kitchen making you breakfast. Like always."

Lainy looked at him wary.

"I promise", he repeated. "Now, go to bed." He gave her one more hug and one more kiss.

"You have to go, too", Hailie insisted and examined him closely. "You look horrible."

Then he looked better than he felt. "Of course. I can't wait to go to bed. Now, off with you two, go."

She looked at him skeptical, but finally she nodded and let go of his neck. Both girls stood up and went toward the door, but halted in the middle of the room. "Aren't you coming?", Hailie asked.

Marshall was still kneeling at his spot. "Sure, yeah. I just … I'll need some water first. Go on, go on. You're big girls, ain't ya? You don't need your old daddy to tug you in", he tried a bit of a joke.

Lainy and Hailie looked at each other for a long second. Obviously communicating to each other, how little they believed him and how odd his behavior was. Thanks, he knew.

"Sure, Dad", Lainy finally said, "Good night." The two resumed their way.

"Good night, sweet cheeks." He took a long, deep breath to steel himself and with a strong grip into the edge of the couch, he heaved himself up in as smooth and fast and, specifically, normal a motion as he could possibly muster. His legs complained with soreness and ache, but they would have to endure this for only a few more moments. Marshall knew, his daughters probably hid behind the door and watched him. They were sneaky like this. So, he swallowed down the pained groan and made a step toward the kitchen.

But his body was absolutely fed up with his commands to just work. It couldn't. Sheer willpower had its limits. This was it. After all, there was a perfectly good couch standing right in front of him to lie down on.

His foot wasn't even up from the ground, as his supporting leg shook uncontrollably and collapsed underneath him. His hands only barely grabbed the armrest of the couch, but they hadn't much strength either. Exhaustion and tiredness did that to you. But the try to catch himself turned his body around and when he made contact with the floor, his ass was first and caught most of the impact. Hot, burning pain raced up his spine. The raw throbbing turned into knifes stabbing every single cell of his ass inside and out. A short cry of agony filled the room, even as the sound of his voice faded.

"Daddy!", two high-pitched voices called out.

Fuck! This wasn't going right. His daughters should not worry about him. He was still messing up. He was failing them, like he always did. That couldn't, mustn't happen. His daughters were to be happy, he must not fuck this up. Arduously he lifted himself off the ground and onto his knees again. "It's alright, I'm fine. Go to bed, aight."

"You're not fine!", Lainy said now more angry than worried. Her hands grabbed one of his shoulders to help him up.

Hailie stood on his other side and put his arm around her shoulders. "Stop it, Dad, you're hurt. Let us help you, please."

But Marshall shook his head. "I'm fine, it's alright", he insisted. He could not let them see, how hurt he was. What despicable things he'd done tonight. "I just…" What had he used as an excuse? "Right, water … I just need some water." Again he tried to walk toward the kitchen, but his feet barely lifted from the ground and his knees buckled.

"Stubborn son of a …", Lainy muttered angry and fastened her grip on him. As did Hailie and she put her arm around his waist for support. Together the two girls tried to hold him upright. Sharing the weight between them helped a lot, despite them being build slender and slightly shorter than him. Nevertheless, they helped him into the kitchen.

"Sit", Lainy ordered and pulled a chair out for him.

A reluctant sigh. How was he supposed to sit on a kitchen chair? He folded one of his legs underneath himself and put most of his weight on the edge of the seat. He propped his elbows up on the table to catch the rest of his weight.

"Here", Hailie put a glass of water in front of him. "You, uhm … Do you want an aspirin or something?" She sat down with a worried look on her face.

An undefinable noise left his throat. Less pain sounded like a plan. Even better, no pain. That he could get behind. A couple of Ambien and he might finally get some sleep tonight, even if a stupid fly buzzed or an even stupider vibrator. Fucking shit. Why did he always end up in situations like these? He wanted a normal, boring life, not these nightmares. Why couldn't he stay numb and dead inside? Nothing good came from feeling anything. This was a night to forget. Maybe he should've taken Ryan's vodka instead of the water. Maybe, he would've forgotten already? Maybe he could've drowned the monster inside?

He rubbed his hands over his face. "No", he croaked. "It's gonna pass … eventually." Until the next time he lost himself.

"What happened?", Lainy asked tentatively, audibly torn between worry and upset. "Did you … spend the night with Nicky?"

Confused he looked at her. "What?"

With a short gesture she touched her neck. "You got something there."

"If you two got, uhm, a little wild or something, you can tell us. We're big girls", Hailie told him. "We can handle that. Just don't say, you're fine when you're clearly not."

Marshall shook his head. "No, it's not … I wasn't …" What could he say? What were words not to worry them more? What words would soothe them? His thoughts felt like molasses, dragging words through slowly but too sticky to use. "I spent the day with Ryan … as I told you." He was sure, he had told them about that. That he was going out with Ryan today and it probably got late. At least in the afternoon his head had still been working. He must've told them.

The two girls exchanged another look with each other. Then Lainy asked: "Until now?"

He nodded and took a sip from the water. It was cool, right out of the fridge. He liked that. As it went down his pipe, he could feel it wake up all the cells it touched. "We got a bit rough … and had a fight, too." He pressed the glass against his forehead. Perhaps the coolness could wake his brain up as well. He saw shadows moving that looked like them. Ryan agitated, Marshall … driven. "But then his wife called. She was pretty pissed he stayed out so late." He had heard her voice shouting through Ryan's phone and had to bite into the pillow to not make traitorous sounds himself. Though his hole had been slick enough, the sturdy silicone and the sharp vibration had hurt, his ass already too raw. It had been hard to withhold any sound of that, hence him biting into the pillow while he fucked the toy. She couldn't know that Ryan had a new side bitch.

A deep sigh. He was the worst.

"Hm", Lainy made an understanding sound. "We tried, you wouldn't answer your phone."

"Yeah, right, sorry 'bout that." He took another sip from the water and put the glass down. "Ryan has my phone. One of his bad jokes, I think." He wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. Something about mulled whine and presents. Oh, Nicolas had texted him to ask for Christmas. They wanted to spend some time that week. Maybe they could go to his lake house again, set up a small tree and drink some hot chocolate. Nicolas always kissed him lovingly, something he badly longed for at the moment. A light touch of love, even fake love he'd take. As if he'd knew real love, if it hit him in the face.

There was a slight pause before Hailie asked in a careful tone: "Did you guys go out drinking?"

Marshall shook his head. "No, we didn't. I didn't." Ryan had, of course, but there wasn't much he could do about that. The spit out sip of vodka didn't count. Did it? It had been an accident. And he hadn't drunk it. He had made sure to only drink water tonight. At least with this he had been good.

"Well, you're a bit - actually you're quite a lot out of it", Lainy explained.

Again, he shook his head. "It's just fatigue, that's all. My brain's a bit fried, you know. Was a bit much, tonight … I ain't used to this no more." He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if this could bring back energy. Or at least stop the sting behind his eyes. "… I don't want this no more." How could he stop? Wasn't it enough that he cheated on Nicolas? Why did he have to abuse his friend, too? Why did he push too hard until every part of his body was harried? Why was he so wrong?

"Hey Dad, hey shh", Hailie said softly standing next to him. "It's okay. It's gonna be alright." She hugged him tenderly. "You're not wrong, okay? You're the best dad. And we love you. It's gonna be alright." Her gentle hand rubbed comfortingly over his shoulder.

"Know what, you were right", Lainy said. She squeezed his hand warmly, her thumb caringly stroked the back of his hand. "We should all go to bed. Rest will do you good."

He sniveled but nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

"Come, we help you upstairs." Together the two girls helped him up on his feet - one of them added numbness to the list of complaints - and supported him out of the kitchen and through the living room. Flanked by his daughters, who held on to him tight, the shakiness of his legs was bad but manageable. If both his legs carried his weight, standing was almost possible. The pain an underlying current to every movement. Slowly, one step at a time they climbed up the stairs.

Eventually he saw his bed. What a long, weary and hard journey had this been! As he crawled into it, the familiar sight and feel of his bed sheets seemed almost like a dream. A heavy sigh, as he finally laid down. He buried his face in the pillow, one more picture of this night flashed his eyes. When he had buried his face just the same, had been crying just the same, his body raw with pain and his arms too tired to move the toy inside, still doing it relentlessly. All alone in the apartment the responsibility of making him learn had rested on his shoulders alone. Too much responsibility. Possibly the pain would linger for days, then he had done good. He was wrong, he needed to hurt.

His shoes came off. Someone opened his belt and pulled his jeans down. A pained groan on his lips, muffled by the pillow. "No … I can't …" He had nothing more to give tonight. Please!

"You can't sleep like this", Hailie said. "Not with your clothes on. Come, help a little."

Lainy grumbled a curse. "You need a shower, too."

His hoodie was pulled off of him.

Weakly he shook his head. "Sleep. I want to … please … I want to end."

The bed shifted beside him as they laid down next to him. The blanket covered them all.

"Good night, Dad."


	40. It's Too Late To Save Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Marshall could finally sleep in peace, time just slips by him. Until Monday comes around and he has to go to the studio. That his weekend had a sexy adventure is obvious and once again he can't escape an embarrassing conversation with Denaun. Which he'd take in a heartbeat over the nightmare that is his boyfriend showing up.

Monday. Normally Marshall was okay with this day, after all he loved his job, loved making music and loved to compete with his friends in the booth. This day, though, was a pain in the ass. Literally. Spending all day yesterday in his bed hadn't done anything good for his sore muscles or his hole. Suffice it to say, it was acting like a prima donna. Every movement made him think of the night with Ryan, made him think of his own repugnant behavior. _Come on, slut, you loved every second of it. A hard dick inside you for hours, that's the dream._ He had been marinading a whole day in his own wrongness and only came out the very same end: He was the worst person. What was he to do about it? How could he change? _Bitch, why're you so exhausting? We both know, you love this._

At the moment he stood in the small kitchen that was part of his studio, and looked into the fridge, trying to find something he could eat for lunch.

Since getting sober he thought, he had done a good job at changing so far. It did help considerably that he had power over his mind now instead of being too drunk or too high to hear his own thoughts and just ended up following his impulses. _Keep yourself telling that, fag. Lies. Lies. Lies._ Following his impulses always got him into trouble. But evidently, he didn't need drugs to completely lose his mind. Sure, even sober he had a hard time controlling himself, but at least he had thought he faired a better chance.

Nope, he did not. On the contrary, with all faculties well intact he had set out for the day to happen more or less exactly as it had. He had gone to the date with Ryan in clothes, he knew Ryan liked on him, and he even had put on some make-up to look cute for him, because Ryan liked that on him. He had fucking planned to look and act in a way, Ryan liked on him. Why had he done that? _Because you love his dick. Ain't that obvious? Your slutty little pussy loves to eat his dick._ That had not been some spur of the moment. He had not lost control because temptation was seducing him. On the contrary, he had planned to seduce Ryan and for his friend to lose control because Marshall was too much temptation for him. _And boy, did you wrap him around your little finger. I'm impressed you still got it, thought you'd become all party pooper and grouch._ It had worked perfectly and admittedly, he was a bit proud of himself. He was officially Ryan's side bitch now.

His heart fluttered at the thought and the prompt tension in his ass stung invitingly. His hole didn't want to be touched, but it sure as shit wanted Ryan's dick in there again.

"You finding anything?", Denaun asked.

Marshall jerked from his thoughts and slammed the fridge shut. Surprised he looked at Denaun, who had just entered the kitchen. _He gonna be your next piece of prey? There's still more room in your pussy and, I mean, he already thinks of you as a girl. Won't take much, I bet. _"What?"

Denaun frowned skeptical. "You always been this skittish?"

"Shut up", he grumbled and wiped a hand over his face. "No, I ain’t skittish. And no, I didn't find anything. It's all crap." He went to the table, where his energy drink still stood. Carefully he lowered himself onto a chair.

Denaun smirked amused. "You had a rough night with Nicolas again?"

An annoyed groan was his response. But probably better his friend thought, Nicolas had torn his ass apart than who'd actually done it. Although, would Denaun care if he knew? Wasn't like Ryan or Marshall sneaked around about their cheating in front of their friends, so that wouldn't be much of a surprise.

"Good for you", Denaun gave a pat on his back. Then he turned to the freezing compartment of the fridge and took out a package of hot pockets. "You want one?"

"Hrmpf", Marshall mumbled and shrugged.

Denaun raised his brows quizzically, but he went on to put the food into the microwave. "Maybe you two should switch sometimes? You're kinda limping all the time recently. That can't be good in the long run, I don't think."

"What?", Marshall asked confused. This wasn't really going, where he thought this was going, was it? _Sounds like he's dreaming about your pussy already. A bit too nice, but we'll teach him how it's done._

Denaun leaned against the counter, waiting for the microwave to ping for his meal. "I mean, you kinda need your ass, right. Won't do you much good, if you, uhm … tear it open permanently. Know what I mean?"

"Oh God", Marshall muttered with embarrassed frustration and rubbed his hands over his face. "My hole's gonna be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me. I'm just not used to this, yet."

"If you say so", Denaun didn't sound convinced. "Just saying, he could take one for the team every now and then."

Marshall shook his head, "Nah, I like it better this way." Then he looked at Denaun more closely. "You don’t need to say anything."

"Really? Better?", Denaun asked, the ping of the microwave interrupted him. With his food he sat himself down at the table.

"Yeah?", he shrugged noncommittal. "Everyone has preferences, dude. Don't make it weird." Marshall had an ass, that liked to be played with and filled out, that just was how his body worked. Nothing weird to see here!

Denaun raised his hands appeasing. "I'm just surprised. Didn't think that would be better than doing it regular. Seems strange to me."

"You're making it weird", Marshall huffed and grabbed one of the hot pockets from Denaun's plate. "You don't question it when a girl likes a dick in her pussy, then why you question it when I do? It's the same fucking thing." He bit into his hot pocket and instantly coiled back as the steaming hot sauce hit his tongue. "Fuck! Hot, hot, hot!", he hissed.

Denaun looked at him with wide eyes and baffled.

In hope of cooling, Marshall took a sip from his drink. Helped a little. He blew some air on the bite, that hung half off the thing. Chewing the morsel tentatively, he turned his eyes to Denaun again and mumbled around his food: "What?"

"I don't know, that sounds … You have a funny way of phrasing things sometimes", his friend tried to explain.

Marshall frowned. "Wasn't trying to."

Denaun was more careful, as he bit into his food. "But you're right, there's no need to question it. You can certainly like, what you like."

A disapproving snort came from him. "You sound like my therapist. Stop that." It was totally enough, that he had one person in his life who almost unquestioningly accepted all the weird things he said and did and liked as normal. He didn't need his friends to start acting the same way. "You think it's weird, then say it, man. I don't want you guys to walk on eggshells around me." _You want them dicks to fill your holes out. Denaun likes his chicks a little dirty, that's gonna be easy for you, fag._

"Wasn't what I was doing", Denaun explained. "It's just … I'm trying to be supportive. I don't care that you have a boyfriend now. He makes you happy, that's good. But … Talking about it feels a bit strange, still." A shrug. More eating.

Marshall scoffed. "Your own damn fault, idiot. You started it."

"It's hard to ignore it, when you limp like that, you know." _Very good, he's already watching your ass. Now tell him, he can have a piece of it, too._

"Shut up", he growled embarrassed. "You'd limp, too, if you had a fucking vibrator stuck in there all night. Ain't like these things are made to fall asleep with. I wanna see you keeping your dignity intact then, dickhead."

Denaun coughed and snorted his hot pocket across the table. "What? Fuck, wait … What?!"

The groan was muffled by his hands as Marshall buried his face in them. The hell did he say that for? _I guess, to brag about your sex prowess? As usual, you do things weird, bitch. _That totally wasn't necessary information for anyone, ever. Least of which a friend, who tried so hard to be okay with his gay thing. This was not making things less weird. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, no dice, I probably won't ever forget you said that. What?" Denaun ignored for the moment, that his lunch was scattered across the table. "He wasn't kidding, huh. Being kinky and stuff."

Another groan and Marshall pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He pressed them in hard. There was no need for him to correct Denaun in his assumptions. He should let it slide. He should just let his friend believe, that he was limping out of pleasure, because of sex his boyfriend and him had enjoyed, that this had been right and proper and good. Although Marshall was sure, it wasn't. Nicolas wouldn't do this to him. _How would you know? You two barely do anything, and if you do something, you have to ruin it, fag. Why're you so bad at fucking your boyfriend? Shouldn't that be the easiest for a slut like you?_ His boyfriend would not leave him like that, alone, raw and hurt, still fucking himself with a toy. He wouldn't let it go so far in the first place. When they had been kinky, Nicolas had been considerate this way. Sure, his ass had complained, but not because he had been fucked to the point of pain, but because he had been fucked well and spanked good. There was a difference. He didn't want anyone to think, Nicolas would treat him badly. His boyfriend didn't. Marshall had done it to himself. "Wasn't him", a whisper slipped out between his lips.

"Hm, what was that?", Denaun asked.

Marshall lowered his hands and stared his can of red bull down, as if it could change anything about this situation - about him. "I said, I wasn't with Nicolas this weekend."

"Oh, I see", Denaun nodded in understanding. "You're doing that again, figures."

With a frown Marshall looked up.

"What? This ain't my first time watching you wreck a relationship. I ain't much surprised." He sighed lightly at the mess his lunch had turned into and stood up from his chair to get a cloth and clean the table.

Yeah, neither was he. "I fucked up big time", he admitted in a low voice.

Denaun cleaned up the mess he had made on the table. "Judging by your limp, I'd say so. It's a pity this didn't go away with you coming out. I like him." _Chances for a threesome? Awesome!_

"Why would it?", Marshall asked confused.

A shrug. "Dunno. I thought, maybe you do this 'cause you don't really want to be with a girl, you know, so you sabotage yourself that you won't have to."

"Oh." That sounded sensible.

"Apparently, I was wrong." Denaun sat down again and resumed eating his lunch or what was left of it.

"Unfortunately." Marshall liked the idea. It made sense and even gave a half decent excuse for him being this much of an asshole to his exes. "But no, doesn't seem to be linked. Only thing different, I have guys in bed now. Everything else is still the same." _Of course it is, dumbass. You ain't sabotaging yourself, you're just yourself - a slutty, horny fag._

Denaun chewed on the last of his hot pockets and made a few thinking noises. Then he asked: "Has your therapist any ideas on this? I mean, surely you two work on this."

Marshall sighed deeply. "Mostly in relation to Kim. I don't know, if this is applicable here. They're very different people."

"But you're the same", Denaun pointed out. "What difference does it make, who you cheat on, when you cheat on every single one of them? That's more of a big picture situation, ain't it."

Tilting his head, he looked at Denaun. "Possible? You could be right." Which made this even worse. He knew already, he was wrong, but this meant he was rotten in his core. If Denaun was right, then something was fundamentally wrong with him and a fundament you couldn't repair easily, you had to demolish the whole building first. Frost gripped his insides and twisted them hard.

It was so obvious now. Of course this was the problem. It wasn't that he had bad control over himself or that he didn't learn well from his mistakes. _I keep telling you that, bitch, but you won't listen to me._ No. It was that his very existence was wrong. There was nothing control or learning could do to change the very definition of who he was. Only solution was to tear him down and build a completely new person in his stead. _You always overcomplicate things, fag. Just be honest and you'll be fine. Well, and don't forget the condoms._

He, Marshall Bruce Mathers III, was failing by existing.

The door opened with an energetic push. "Hey guys", Ryan greeted with a smile and walked in. "Ah, there you are. I-", he stopped himself and stared at Marshall with wide eyes.

Instantly, reflexively Marshall had jumped up from his chair and rushed a step back from the table. His eyes were fixed on Ryan. Although he was grateful that his friend had so entirely wrecked his hole and was helping him to get well used for Nicolas, only one day wasn't enough time to rebound. He still hurt too much and every sting, every throb of pain made him shudder with memories and disgust.

"You okay?", Ryan asked and came closer. "You should take it easy."

"I'm fine." His voice was too high.

Ryan frowned. He extended his arm and held out Marshall's cell phone. "Here, you forgot that with me."

Marshall was careful not to touch Ryan's fingers, as he took the phone from him. "Thanks."

"Oh …", said Denaun quietly, as the proverbial penny dropped. "You two … That makes a whole lot of sense now."

"What?", Ryan asked confused and looked at Denaun. "There's nothing to make sense here."

Denaun rolled his eyes. "Don't take me for a fool. You two always act like you're glued together or some shit."

"No, we ain't", Ryan denied and clearly took offense to the observation. "We're friends. That's how friends are."

Picking up the empty plate, Denaun stood up and put it in the dish washer. "Come on. He just told me, he got thoroughly fucked by some rando this weekend. That being you makes a whole lot of sense."

Ryan huffed disgruntled. "The city's full with guys, maybe it's one of them. How would you know, asshole?"

"I-I need to, uh, to go", Marshall stammered and fled the kitchen. _Smooth, homo, real smooth. I know asking for a threesome can make you nervous, but this way you won't get any._ With hurried steps he navigated through the halls and ignored his tense muscles protesting. His ass brought him this trouble, the least it could do now was keep quiet while he sought a way to deal with it. _You're running away. In which universe is that dealing with things, bitch? Seriously, grow a spine._ Goose bumps rose all over his body and every little hair on his skin stood in attention. Anticipation. The thrill of dragging Ryan to some place just so out of sight fluttered his stomach. The feeling of a pulse inside him that wasn't his own called out to him seductively. But the thought of pressure in his hole made his body tense and stiff, and not in the good way. He didn't want to lead his friend deeper into this pit, for his friend to stick to the same disgusting goo of cheating and lies and self-loathing. Although, his friend had dug his own pit already, Marshall's was arguably worse. Why else would Ryan deny their involvement? Wasn't like Denaun thought of them as saints.

Marshall didn't know where he wanted to go, which place could tolerate his deplorable ass. He thought of his studio as a safe space, a place he could be himself. Well, mostly himself, everything had limits. Except for him. His feet eventually lead him out of the backdoor and he leaned against the cold brick wall. A deep breath of December air froze his insides. Wasn't cold the cessation of movement? Couldn't the cold make him stop moving, too? Maybe then he would stop hurting the people around him.

His hand still held on to his phone. Numerous notifications of missed calls and missed text messages and missed emails lit up the display. With a sigh he unlocked his phone. Missed calls from Big Eight and from home, his daughters. They deserved so much better than him. He knew the awful feeling he must cause them. A parent who couldn't take care of themselves, that was one of the worst feelings he knew. So often he had had to take care of his mother, too drunk to stand on her own two feet and his baby brother sleeping in Marshall's bed, since the little boy had nightmares most of the time. Worse, this caused his little brother to be taken away. When Hailie was born, he had vowed to do better - to be better. But evidently he was the same as her: A drug addict bouncing from one fuck to the next.

Most of the emails were for work. Somehow this was the only thing he didn't fail at. Sure, his last two albums sounded rather different than before and not every critic or fan liked it. Still, they sold better than most and other artists he looked up to saw what he had tried to do with them. Some even knew how difficult it could be to get back on the mic sober after so many years of just not. One of the emails was about a new artist he was signing to his label. Another one was about Slaughterhouse, which he was absolutely amped about. Why was his work going fine, but his family life fell apart? It was always the same.

The last missed notifications he needed to deal with were from Nicolas, there was no avoiding it any longer. Eight missed messages. Marshall expected one of them to read something like: 'fuck you! don't ignore me asshole! are you fucking somebody else? I bet you are, son of a bitch! whore! lose my number, we're over!'

At least, it was exactly what Marshall would write, if he was ignored by a chick for days. What else could you say? _That's what you get for believing in romance, little gay looking boy. Just face it, you ain't build for love._ Rightly so he dreaded to open the app. Marshall didn't want them to be over, regardless of how his behavior this weekend seemed to say the opposite. Something really was fundamentally wrong with him and he shouldn't drag anyone else down with him. Apparently, he couldn't be saved no more. Perhaps, he never had the chance to be saved. Soon Nicolas would realize this, too, and their dream would burst. Perhaps this was for the best, but Marshall's heart still was heavy with this thought. He wanted to enjoy the time with Nicolas just a little longer. It was such a warm illusion that anyone could care for him with real affection.

Marshall opened the app and Nicolas's name, quickly he scrolled up. No, he didn't want to see their end just yet. The first message he had missed, read: sounds good. maybe we can spend some quality time somewhere nice. a few hours at a motel don't feel right, don't you agree?

Indeed, Marshall agreed. Had he seen this Saturday, he would've answered how they could go up to the lake house again. _Only if you end up fucking there, homo. If you spend your days cuddling again, I quit._ Perhaps they could get a small tree for the table and have small gifts, only as tokens of their affection for each other, nothing big or expensive. An idea Marshall liked very much. But this wasn't Saturday anymore and in the hours since, he had thoroughly ruined their relationship and any hope for a romantic Christmas with his boyfriend.

The next message read: if you don't like the idea, we can keep it small and simple

But Marshall liked the idea! Why had he let it happen, that Ryan took his phone away? He sighed. Because he wanted that big, black, beautiful dick inside him. _I couldn't've said it better. No reason to sound sad, though. You got what you wanted and it was one hell of a fucking._ His friend deserved so much better than him. Only thing he managed was to misuse their friendship for his own depraved gains. This wasn't right.

Another missed message from Saturday: I don't want to interfere with your family traditions. we don't have to do anything for christmas. I just thought it's a good excuse to spend some time together

Nicolas always tried to accommodate him and do things Marshall's way. Barely did they do anything his boyfriend wanted and when they tried, like with the kinky sex, Marshall failed at it. How was one person so nice to him?

The last message from that day read: sweet dreams, ice princess

A small sob left Marshall's mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut. His head quietly thumbed against the stone brick wall. Nicolas deserved so much better than him, than someone who would never truly love him and who was utterly incapable of being faithful. His boyfriend sent his bedtime-wishes regardless, even though Marshall clearly hadn't payed attention to him anymore. Because Marshall was too busy being fucked by somebody else. This was awful.

He slowly slid down the wall and came to sit on the cold concrete somebody had freed from snow. He felt like nothing on earth right now. The first message from Sunday read: are you okay? if I said something wrong or you smashed your game again or whatever, I rather have you angry than silent

The only person who should be angry here, was Nicolas. Why wasn't he? The man wasn't dumb, he must've seen the obvious explanation. Yet, he pretended like nothing wrong was going on, like Marshall wasn't a total asshole toward him. _Maybe he's banking on some awesome Christmas fuck and then he'll dump you. Would suit you right, bitch._

The next missed message read: seriously, are you okay? I'm getting a bit worried over here

No, he was not okay. Not on Sunday, when he had lain in bed unable to move. Of course unable to move, because Ryan had so completely fucked him into pieces that even getting out of bed had been impossible. Not now, when the thought of Ryan fucking him brought hot waves to his blood, instead of him devising an apology to his boyfriend as he should. He had his boyfriend's worried words in his hands, but his dick twitched because of somebody else. This was absolutely horrible.

The last message from Sunday read: sweet dreams, ice princess

Nicolas sent him this every night. He sent it to him, even when Nicolas must've been aware of what had happened this weekend. He must have! But he didn't get angry at Marshall or break up with Marshall - no! Nicolas showed once more, that he cared for Marshall and how he always had nice words to say. How was this possible? _It's a lie, little gay looking boy. Don't fall for it!_

The very last message in their chat was from about an hour ago: I'm seriously worried now. it's not like you at all to be silent for days. I'll be coming over to the studio. if you don't want to see me, fine, don't. I just want somebody to tell me, that you're alive and well, okay?

Marshall was trapped in a nightmare. A nightmare of his own making, no less. He had the nicest and most caring boyfriend in the world and treated him like a piece of shit. What the hell was wrong with him? His core was rotten, no doubt. He needed to end. Now! Nicolas might be an expert with a sword, but in a horror story that didn't count for much, even the heroes barely survived in those. Considering what a monstrous nightmare Marshall was, a hero wouldn't survive him unscathed. Nicolas didn't deserve to be hurt.

The cursor blinked fuzzily. Marshall rubbed his eyes for a moment, but they wouldn't focus. What could he possibly answer to all of this? He should take the opportunity and break up with Nicolas for good. They were half way there already, no big deal. Right? But his thumbs wouldn't type. He didn't want to lose Nicolas. They've been together barely two months, yet Marshall had liked their time together very much. Being with Nicolas felt real and loving and ageless. Like their relationship meant something. As if Marshall could be himself, just a tiny bit himself and Nicolas wouldn't bolt instantly. Because they were doing this slow and spent a lot of time without sex, it felt like they were really getting to know each other. As if Nicolas was interested in him as a person. Marshall knew, this wasn't true, but the feeling was nice anyway. He didn't usually experience this with the people he hooked up with. Mostly on purpose, but also out of necessity. He wasn't a good boyfriend - _You don't say! What would give you that impression, slut?_ \- and he didn't want to hurt anybody like this. But also, most people saw him more as Eminem than Marshall and for a lot of circumstances he had come around to this; not for a relationship though. If somebody he liked deeply told him they loved him, that needed to count for the real Marshall only and exclusively. This was hard to come by, he had learned. Nicolas made it seem so easy and so normal, that he cared for him at all and also for him as Marshall.

But Marshall was unable to reciprocate any of this.

With a heavy sigh and a deep groan, he stood up again. His limbs stiff from crouching in the cold for too long and of course from the weekend still. He closed the app and put the phone in his pocket. Without any reply. There wasn't anything he could say that made this remotely okay. Anything he should say, he didn't want to say. So, more silence it was.

He opened the door again and went back inside. The warm air of the building hit him hard and reminded him how fucking cold it was outside. Rubbing his arms to warm up, he turned a corner and ran into a sturdy body. A hand caught him, before he fell. "Ryan?"

"Fuck, you're cold like an icicle", his friend realized.

Marshall hummed agreeing. That usually happened to you, when you sat in the cold for some time, without any jacket or coat no less.

"You need to warm up, man", Ryan stated the obvious. He put his arm around Marshall's shoulder and pulled him to the kitchen.

The kitchen wasn't empty, three staff members sat there and ate their lunch. Curious looks were thrown in his direction as he sat down. He glared back at them in return. Hadn't they never seen somebody freeze half to death before?

"Do we have tea here, or something?", Ryan asked and turned the electric kettle on.

Marshall snorted dismissive. "How would I know." Did he look like he drank tea? He breathed into his fists to warm them up, not really a solution.

"There's chamomile and black tea, I think", Claret answered. "It's in the top there", she pointed to the cabinet in question.

"Ugh", Marshall crinkled his nose. That sounded yucky. "Ain't there something nice?" He liked lemon in his tea.

Ryan took out a few small cartons of different tea brands. Somebody must've forgotten them here. "There's one with orange and cinnamon spice", he read out loud. Clearly someone had brought over tea for the season.

Marshall could go without. "Nope, try again."

"Or peach mango?", Ryan offered the next one.

Marshall shook his head. "Too sweet."

"Peppermint? It's caffeine free, it says", Ryan suggested next.

Marshall made a gagging sound.

"I'll give you just hot water, if you keep being picky", Ryan glared at him unamused by his antics.

"Then have one that's drinkable", Marshall demanded. _Like what? You want a shot of jizz with your tea?_ Ew, that's gross! _You're the expert on that._

Ryan rolled his eyes at him and read the next one. "Lemon and ginger? It's the last in here."

Marshall had the same at home, it was a good flavor. In response to his friend, he huffed: "If I have to." He would not admit to drinking tea willingly.

"Yes, you have to, Mr. Frostbite." Ryan put the tea bag in a cup and waited for the water to heat up. His foot was impatiently drumming the floor. "Maybe you need a blanket, too? You really look like freezing."

Dismissively Marshall snorted. "Who are you, my mom? Even she didn't make this much of a fuss. I drink your stupid tea, that has to be enough." He was cold from sitting outside for too long, that was it. He wasn't dying, no reason to pretend like he was.

"I'm just worried", Ryan muttered and rubbed his neck embarrassed. "You know, after the weekend and everything. That was a bit wild and …", he shrugged.

This wasn’t a place to discuss this! "I'm fine!", he snarled annoyed.

A knock at the door. Nicolas was standing in the doorframe and gave a short wink for a greeting. His black eyes fixed on Marshall, the shadows underneath them were darker than usual.

Instantly, Marshall jumped up, but a strong hand on his shoulder pushed him down again and he groaned, his muscles complaining loudly. Confused he looked up to Ryan, who held him down.

"What's he doing here?", Ryan growled and with slitted eyes he looked to Nicolas.

Nicolas took a few steps into the kitchen. >Are you okay?< A frown deepened the creases of his face and his eyes seized Ryan up. Suspicion.

Marshall bit his lips. His lungs threatened to collapse under the pressure that squeezed his body tight. His muscles tensed all over, the pain from the weekend heightened his shame and his heartache. Abashed he lowered his eyes and moved his fist across his chest in a circle. >I'm sorry.< It wasn't enough, but it was all.

The signal of heated water interrupted. Ryan's big hand left his shoulder, as he turned to the kettle and the cup of tea.

Nicolas took more steps into the kitchen, toward the table and Marshall and finally sat down opposite of him. >You don't look well<, he stated. >Maybe you should go home and take time to recuperate. Even a cold isn't cured in a weekend.<

Meekly he shook his head. This was getting worse. How could Nicolas think, this was the fault of a cold? Didn't he see the hickey distinctly dancing on his neck? Didn't he see the renewed bruises adorning his wrists? The soreness and ache he felt all over his body must be so fucking obvious. The days long silence between them said everything. Why was his boyfriend pretending, this weekend had any other explanation?

Forcefully the cup of tea was put between them. The hot water spilled on the tabletop. Grimly Ryan looked down at Nicolas. "You should leave. Don't interfere with our work."

But Nicolas didn't pay the man no mind. >I'm sure, they can manage without you for a few days. It won't help anyone, if you neglect yourself.<

>I'm fine<, Marshall answered.

The look in Nicolas's eyes clearly told of disbelief.

"Hey, I said, you need to leave", Ryan repeated and shoved Nicolas at the shoulder. "Don't bother him, man."

Unimpeded Nicolas swatted the hand away, his gaze still fixed on Marshall. >I'm much the same, ignoring my body telling me to stop, always fighting through the pain. So, I get it, I really do, but … Honestly, the last couple weeks you always seem much stressed and worn down. Some rest might do you good.<

"Hey! I'm talking to you", Ryan said angered and lifted Nicolas from the chair, his fist clawing into the collar of the coat.

Now, Nicolas's gaze shifted and annoyance filled his expression. His hand grasped around the wrist holding him, his fingers visibly dug into the skin and he turned the limb.

With a pained croak Ryan let go, his fingers convulsed in midair as his wrist kept being turned and he had to move his arm with it. "Fuck you, man!"

"Nicolas! Stop it", Marshall intervened. He had stood up again and reached his hand out to get Nicolas's attention, to pacify him, to do anything helpful. >Stop, you're hurting him<, he signed. Why were these two so tense around each other? So eager, to fight each other? Nicolas must know, what Marshall had done. What other explanation was there? Everything was his fault.

The hand pulled away immediately. >Take better care of yourself, okay?<, Nicolas asked. >Text me, if you want to go out again.< Then he turned around and left the kitchen.

"What the …?", Marshall looked confused after the man. What did that mean? Quick, he came around the table and followed his boyfriend. >Hey, wait a second.< He caught Nicolas's arm and held him back. >You still want to go out with me?< Somehow it felt more wrong when a man ignored his obvious cheating. Women were supposed to be forgiving and bad chick flicks taught them, a woman could fix an asshole just by loving him enough. A stupid idea, but a powerful cliché nonetheless. Marshall had met some chicks who fell for it, who stayed with him despite him being so horrible to them, who tried so hard to make him into a better person. In vain, obviously. But men weren't supposed to forgive or to nurture their partner into a better version of themselves. Men weren't supposed to care this much.

Nicolas nodded, his expression serious as ever.

>Why?< Shouldn't he be furious with him? Didn't he want Marshall to be his and his alone? _Maybe he doesn't care? He just fucks you until he gets bored. Why he hasn't dumped you yet, is beyond me. But hey, you're better than a blow-up doll, slut, achievement unlocked._

>I told you, I enjoy dating you.<

Marshall frowned. >You enjoy this?<, he gestured around them. Of course, he didn't mean this hallway or this building, but this fucked up situation. >You worried about me for a weekend - for no fucking reason. I'm fine! Hell, I'm better than fine. And you enjoy this?<

>You're high-maintenance, that's nothing new.< A slight smirk appeared on Nicolas's thin lips for a second. >I told you, you're downright effervescent, just full with life. But on the flip side, you're also moody and short-tempered. It's the same thing.<

Marshall's frown deepened. >That doesn't sound like you like me.< _He don't need to like you, he just needs to fuck you, bitch._

"Can the guy fucking leave, already?", Ryan snarled and pushed the warm cup of tea into Marshall's hands, but his eyes were fixated on Nicolas, who glared back. The two men stared at each other with glowing animosity.

Marshall bit his lips. Could they really pretend, nothing had happened? Could his boyfriend ignore this? Were they even still boyfriends? He wanted them to, despite how colossally he had fucked up in the last two days. Despite the fact, how much he enjoyed the thought of being Ryan's side bitch. This surely had to explode sooner rather than later.

Marshall decided to enjoy every second of this, for however long it would last. Maybe he could add some happy memories to his brain for once. "Why don't you stay?", he suggested to Nicolas.

Ryan growled wordlessly his disapproval, but Marshall nudged his ribs warningly.

With a slow nod Nicolas agreed. >I have some time. Perhaps you can show me, what you do here all day. I don't really know, what a rapper does.<

Marshall warmed his fingers on the steaming cup of tea. "No? It's a lot sitting around, trying to come up with something clever to say, you know, or playing with all the sliders and buttons to find whatever it is the song's missing. They make it quite the secret sometimes how they want to sound."

The smirk re-appeared on Nicolas's lips, longer this time and with decided amusement. >Sounds like quite the puzzle. You probably need a lot of brainpower to make it right?<

"Brainpower?", he asked confused. Did he interpret that sign correctly? Marshall shook his head slightly. "No, not like that. Ain't like this is rocket science or anything. It's a lot of craftsmanship, less intellect, I think." He didn't think of himself as particularly smart, he just saw how words fit together well.

An elbow nudged into his sides. "Don't put your light under", Ryan said in a serious tone.

His friend stood too close. Marshall threw a nervous glance to Nicolas, but his boyfriend just stood there nonchalantly. This was absolutely weird. Marshall took a sip from his tea and hissed a second time this day, because it was too hot on his already burned tongue. "Damnit", he cursed himself. First he couldn't walk properly anymore, now he couldn't eat and drink anymore. What was this? Did he turn back into a baby? Laughable. Sharply he straightened his back and turned around, which his sore muscles had something to bitch about. An inviting nod. "Come, I show you around." He grabbed the tea cup firmer, he needed something to anchor himself to.

"I'll come, too", Ryan offered immediately and already put his feet into motion.

A glare from Nicolas. "No need, we got this", he said in his dark voice. There was a distinct undercurrent of warning. He put his arm around Marshall's waist, the gesture obviously meant to discourage Ryan. But the soft, light touch felt like a question to Marshall. Perhaps Nicolas was as unsure about this as he was? Not about the fact, that they wanted to be with each other, but how this could work? _Don't get your hopes up, little gay looking boy, this ain't a fairy tale. He's gonna fuck you and leave you, that's how your life is._

They made their way through the building quite fast. Most of the rooms looked the same after all, usually a couch or two and a big table for some gear, an electric keyboard maybe and a laptop, some headphones lay about everywhere and cables, that should connect to a speaker or an amplifier or something, but didn't always. A short detour to the foyer with the arcade machines, which Marshall just had to show his boyfriend. Nicolas teased him again for his outburst against the Donkey Kong game a few weeks prior. The crack in the plastic was still visible and the game still didn't work right.

Eventually they ended up in Marshall's main studio, the room he spent most of his time in. A couch on one side, a guitar standing next to it. A big table in the middle of the room with a keyboard and headphones on top and some stereo equipment stacked underneath. Not far away a computer he mostly ignored. On the other side of the room was the mixing console and a pair of high quality loudspeakers were let-in flush with the wall, the woofer and highs separated for sound but it also looked nice. Adjacent the small recording booth with sound isolation, a window connected the two rooms.

"I'm here most of the time", he explained and put his half drunk cup of tea on the table.

Nicolas nodded understandingly, but he pointed to the keyboard. >You play? Cool.<

"Nah", he shook his head, "Not really. I sometimes tickle the keys a bit, if I need to get a melody across or, you know, clown around or something. More skilled people than me can actually play."

>So, you come up with your own melodies, then?<, Nicolas asked. >That's pretty impressing. I can't even whistle someone else's tune.<

Marshall looked at his boyfriend for a moment, not sure if he was serious or joking. It was often hard to tell. "Sometimes, yes. Most of the time, however, somebody else has a beat or a sample and I jump on that."

>Cool.< Nicolas went around the table to the soundboard. >What's this? Looks complicated as fuck. Do you really need all those knobs and controls and buttons and stuff?<

Following him, he answered: "Kind of. It's a mixing console. My skills are still a bit limited with it. I like producing. I love to tweak around, you know, to get the sounds just right, how I want them and stuff. It's easier to tweak on something already there than making your own beat from scratch. Which I also try to do, but it's really hard." He pulled up a chair and sat down. Maybe he should've thought that through first, because sitting really was worse than standing. "This is just a small one, though, enough for me. But Andre's like twice the size at least, and he's still bitching about it not being enough. That man's a beast, I tell you. I always learn something when I get to watch him do his magic."

Nicolas pulled up a chair himself. >Who?<

"Dr. Dre", Marshall explained and expected Nicolas to react impressed. But no reaction came. Right, Nicolas didn't know music. "He's a legend. When I was a kid, he was one of my idols, you know. I mean, he still is. Without him, Hip Hop would sound vastly different than it does today. And it probably would be a lot less popular." _Bitch, what you're talking about? Get to the fucking already. You really think, he wants to hear about work? Damn, you're bad at this._

>You get to work with your idol? That's really cool. That's when you know, you made it, isn't it.< Nicolas turned some of the knobs around and pushed a slider up and down.

Marshall smiled shyly. "He's the one who signed me, who made everything here possible in the first place. Without him, I'd probably still cook burgers for not much more than loose change or some shit."

On Nicolas's face an idea build up. >You cooked for a living? That explains a lot.<

"What?", Marshall asked back confused. "Calling it cooking's generous. It was a cheap burger joint, so not really food you should eat. If you don't have options, you do everything, you know." He shrugged. Since he had no skills and no education, he hadn't had the right to be picky. Any job he had been hired for, he had been lucky to get - and fast to lose, usually. Working like a normal person really wasn’t his thing.

>Yes, I know.<

He smirked. "You ever worked as a cook? Bet, you would've ended up with your finger in the hot dog."

An amused shove to Marshall's shoulder. Then Nicolas pointed to the soundboard, >Show me something.<

"Huh?" What now?

Nicolas only nodded again.

"What? How?" Nicolas couldn't hear and even though he seemed able to feel music when it was strong enough, there had to be a limit on that. There was so much in music and sounds Nicolas was missing, how could Marshall show him anything?

Nicolas shrugged. >Figure it out, you're the expert.<

"I'm no expert", he denounced immediately. Unsure he rubbed his neck. "Well … Perhaps we could start with recording something? And then go through some of these", he gestured toward the controls of the soundboard, "And see, what they do? I mean, you can look at it", and he gestured to the monitor hanging on the wall above them. "You can see how the sound waves change and all that, even if you can't hear it."

Nicolas nodded. >Sounds like a plan.<

A tentative smile on Marshall's lips. "Cool. Uhm, do you want to record something?"

>I don't sing<, Nicolas signed with a frown.

"You don't have to. Just say something, it doesn't need to mean anything. Gibberish works. You won't believe how much nonsense I say, before a song starts to make sense. Don't overthink it." An excited tingle crept through his stomach at the prospect of this, having a recording of Nicolas's voice. He loved his voice and his way of speaking. Sadly, he still hadn't been able to make a beat from it. Maybe this would help?

Nicolas shrugged. >If you say so, you're the expert.<

"I ain't an expert", Marshall grumbled. "Anyway, you can go in there and I give you a sign, when I'm ready to record, yes?" He pointed to the window and the booth behind it.

Nicolas agreed and a few moments later, he stood in the booth and waited for the signal. Finally, he spoke into the microphone: "I'm here and I'm there, I'm left and I'm right, I'm low and I'm high. I'm not. I laugh and I cry, I love and I hate, I'm life and I'm death. I'm not. I'm you and I'm me, I'm the illness and the cure, I'm good and I'm evil. I am. I'm me and I'm you, I'm cold and I'm hot, I save and I kill. I am."

Marshall listened to the recording through a pair of headphones, this made it easier for him to hear and discover what could be tweaked or should sound better. The dark, breathy voice of his boyfriend came through strong and clear. The vowels stretched just a bit too much each time and the consonants often were a little too soft. But now that he listened so closely, there was an unmistakable sound of melancholy as well. Marshall hadn't noticed this pinch of dolorousness in Nicolas's voice before. As he watched his boyfriend through the glass that separated the two rooms, he wondered if the shadows underneath Nicolas's eyes weren't only from spending too many nights awake working, but from his arguably agonizing work itself. Maybe he liked to fight and maybe the sight of blood excited him, but perhaps killing a person still weighed on him regardless. Perhaps something else was causing this tone? The few things Marshall knew about this man didn't speak of a lighthearted life.

His heart wanted to reach out to Nicolas and be at his side, as the man so often was at his. He deserved to feel happy and loved and cared for and Marshall wanted to give him all those emotions, to give back what he had been given. He wanted to share what Nicolas so often sparked within him.

As Nicolas came back to the soundboard and his seat, Marshall leaned over to him and kissed him softly. He only knew two ways of sharing himself, but only one was applicable in this moment. Their lips moved tenderly with each other, savoring the feeling of the fine, sensitive skin of the other against their own. Marshall's fingers stroked through the black and messy hair. He loved, how soft it felt despite how spiky it looked. Slowly their tongues met, more fond touches between them. Almost like a dance in their mouths, a quiet tune of affection and care guided their movements. A treasured moment. Nicolas's hand lay on Marshall's side, lightly caressing him through the fabric of his t-shirt. But he could feel its warmth anyway, always. The two men lingered in this loving kiss for a while. Eventually, their lips parted again and Marshall signed: >That was beautiful.<

>I think so, that's why I memorized it. It's written by I Seon-ung<, Nicolas explained. >I thought, something artsy is appropriate here.< A warm smirk on his thin lips.

Marshall replied with a soft smile of his own. >Then let's see, what we can make with it.< He unplugged his headphones and Nicolas's voice came through the wall speakers deep and spacious. The bass vibrated the small hairs on Marshall's neck. "That's you normal", he explained using his voice, his signing still needed much work and wasn't good enough to explain his job with. He looked up to the monitor where the computer software made the sound waves visible. "You already have a pretty deep voice. If we go any deeper, probably I won't be able to hear it, either." He turned a few knobs and moved a few sliders. On the monitor the lines stretched themselves longer. The tone from the speaker grew deeper, the words more and more unrecognizable until they were hard to hear at all. But the vibration in the air was clear to the senses anyway. A shiver nestled into Marshall's spine.

Intently Nicolas watched Marshall's hands and the monitor, his eyes connecting the actions on the soundboard with the changes of the graphics. >But you can feel it<, he stated and rubbed over his own arm for a second.

"Very", Marshall agreed. "That can be important. Sometimes I put something like this in a song. It's hard to hear but it gives the right feel, you know. I mean, this is of course a set-up most people don't have, but as long as you don't listen on absolute trash, it should work like I intend it."

>Crafty.<

Marshall shrugged briefly. "Let's go the other direction and make you into a chipmunk." He turned other parts of the controls and the spoken words became fast and high pitched, the lines of the graphs came closer and closer together. "You can also go too far with this and people can't hear it, too, but that's way more uncomfortable, if you ask me." He rubbed his ear hard as a particular high pitched syllable creaked out of the speakers. "Kinda like a knife in your eardrum."

By now, Nicolas's eyes lay on Marshall again. >So, sounds really do hurt? And not just by being too loud.<

"Depends, but yeah, too high pitched sounds can hurt", Marshall explained. "That's why I don't have singers on my songs that go too high. I hate that, you know. To me, that's just noise, shrill and screeching noise. No, thanks." As he spoke, he turned the recording back to normal again. The dark, breathy voice sounded best at its normal pitch after all.

>Your ears really are sensitive, aren't they.< With a light touch that almost made no contact, he caressed fondly over Marshall's auricle. It was barely sensible.

But Marshall sensed it nonetheless. A tingling flashed through his nerves and he shifted in his seat, drawn between getting more of Nicolas's soft touch or getting away from this unexpected feeling of closeness. A wordless sound left him, that begrudgingly agreed, but he clearly didn't want to admit it. One more time he bit his lips, not only aware of this gesture but Marshall also knew all the things that lay inside it. And that it was good.

Nicolas's fingers went further to caress Marshall's neck. His thumb rubbed over the spot where the hickey shone forth on the pale skin. Under the touch, Marshall's body tensed, though the thumb stayed unperturbed. Nicolas leaned forward and kissed the same spot lightly.

Ashamed Marshall pushed him away, his hand lingering on Nicolas's chest. "That is …" Awkward to say the least. This was not pretending that the weekend didn't happen.

Nicolas withdrew on the push, his expression questioning. >I'm not an idiot, you know.<

That was exactly the problem. Marshall broke their eye contact and signed back: >I know.< He didn't want Nicolas to know. Why had Ryan put a hickey on his neck? They weren't teenagers anymore, for fuck's sake.

>I don't think, you do<, Nicolas added and his eyes darted over Marshall's face for a long second. Apparently not finding what he was looking for. >I'm not oblivious to this lifestyle of yours. You're a rich and famous rapper, that comes with some perks. That ain't a secret.<

>But you said, I'm yours<, Marshall interjected agitated. A hand briefly touched his neck. That he was marked there, seemed so much more like a failure than just fucking somebody else. An act of disrespect. >That you be the only one who …<, he didn't know the sign.

A low sigh from his boyfriend. >What I want and what you do, aren't the same thing.<

>I'm sorry.<

An almost shy kiss on Marshall's lips. >I told you before, do what you want to do. It's not like we're Romeo and Juliet, destined to love each other to death. We can do this casual.<

No!

Marshall kissed him back impulsively. >I do better<, he promised. How he would achieve this, he didn't know yet, but he would - he had to. He needed to stop hurting the people around him. Nicolas was too nice to say what he really meant: Let's break up. But if Marshall kept this going, he would eventually force Nicolas's hand. There was only so much a person could take. Marshall deepened the kiss with more passion.

As Nicolas's fingers caressed his neck again, Marshall stayed this time. The fingers stroked through the short hair on the back of his neck and Marshall leaned more into the touch.

His own hands reached for Nicolas's sides and found a way under the sweater to touch the other's skin. A short nod to the room, more precisely to the couch. >It's better over there<, Marshall signed and stood up. He took Nicolas's hand into his and lead his boyfriend to the other side of the room where the couch stood.

Agreeing with this, Nicolas followed.

Marshall directed his boyfriend to sit on the couch, renewing their kiss as he sat himself on Nicolas's lap. His hands made quick work of the sweater and took it off, the pale, scarred skin was free. Leaning down Marshall kissed them and sucked them and his tongue connected the scars with wet lines.

Nicolas sent his hands under Marshall's clothes, the rough fingertips stroked his skin. It didn't take long for him to squeeze Marshall's ass, something he liked to do - and Marshall liked to feel.

But this time, his body stiffened with the squeeze and the tone from his throat wasn't pure pleasure. There was a little bit of pain, too. Soreness didn't go away just because you needed it to. Marshall had always been good at ignoring things.

The sweatpants were slipped down a bit by Nicolas and his hands squeezed again, stronger this time and Marshall winced. He kissed Nicolas fiery and his own hands opened the other's belt. A finger was playing with his hole and Marshall hissed at the nasty feeling this caused.

Nicolas broke their kiss and his expression was a question. Which one was obvious.

But Marshall shook his head. This wasn't important and Nicolas shouldn't concern himself with it. It would only push him further away. Marshall kissed him again.

Another try of the finger to play with his hole and Marshall tried his hardest to not flinch again. This was exactly what he wanted - what Nicolas should enjoy, damned be his body if it interfered now. He rolled his hips down onto Nicolas's lap and their bodies rubbed against each other, but his muscles complained about a complex movement like this.

Kissing him back, Nicolas pushed him down onto the couch and Marshall wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's neck to pull him down with him. The weight of the man on his body was welcome. His sweats were pulled all the way down to his ankles and the rough hands stroked over the newly uncovered skin.

"Turn around", Nicolas said with his deep voice right into Marshall's ear. Rightfully so, his body shivered with each syllable. Of course, Marshall did as told and rolled on his stomach. Thinking ahead, he got his knees under himself to push his ass higher. Nicolas should have it easy and should have fun with his ass. A kiss on one of his ass cheeks, a praise. A tongue licked his flesh wantingly and made its wet way to his crack. The rough fingers pulled the cheeks apart …

Nothing else happened.

Marshall looked over his shoulder to his boyfriend. Their eyes locked, but Nicolas's were all frown and upset. A shook of his head. Nicolas leaned down and kissed one of his cheeks again, then he pulled the briefs up.

"Wait, what?", Marshall asked confused. This was not how sex worked. What was Nicolas doing? Had he already enough of him? Was the sight of his ass turning him off? Since when? Could he see what happened this weekend? Did it look as bad as it felt? Fuck! This was going all wrong. A cold rush of fear flushed his veins. Marshall wiggled his ass slightly, temptingly. With one hand he reached behind and pulled the article of clothing out of the way again, exposing the flesh of his ass again. "Come, you want this", he knew. He hoped.

But Nicolas retreated and sat himself down on the couch. "Sit up", he told him.

Marshall swallowed hard, but he sat up and the soreness made the move sluggish. Cursed be his ass's sensitivity. During sex it was great, but now it was messing everything up. Nervous he bit his lips and looked to his boyfriend, expecting the inevitable end. This was it, wasn't it? The last straw. "I could blow you", he offered. His hands reached forward into the opened pants and kneaded the flaccid dick.

Again, Nicolas shook his head. >You don't need to do this<, he said and his eyes pierced through Marshall. It felt like knifes stabbed his chest.

"I want to!", he fended off. He freed Nicolas's dick out of its underwear and bend down, tried to kiss and lick it awake, taking it into his mouth to prove he wanted this. Nicolas had a right to him after all, he'd been first and had claimed his ass for his own fun. Ryan had forsook all claims, when he'd ended their thing all those years ago. Whatever Ryan had done to him, Marshall would not let it interfere with any fun his boyfriend wanted. "I'm fine."

With a strong grip Nicolas yanked him up again, into a sitting position. >You're not fine<, he signed, the frown still on his face. >You're hurt. I can fucking see, you're hurt. Whatever happened this weekend isn't fine. You understand? This is not okay and whoever did this, should be ashamed of themselves. Did you cry again?<

Marshall hunched his shoulders as Nicolas told him off. How could he make this better? He didn't want to fight with Nicolas. Didn't they like each other? Not with a hickey on his neck that didn't come from Nicolas, probably. He should've stopped himself, at any point that day he should've stopped himself and this wouldn't be happening right now. Why hadn't he? Marshall nodded as an answer to the question. Another point for the wrong score, he was too soft for Nicolas, he cried too much. His boyfriend didn't like that. "But I can still blow you, really." His hand reached out again, he wanted to bend down again, but before Marshall was even close to Nicolas's dick, he was held back again.

>No, you don't<, Nicolas refused a second time.

Marshall bit his lips harder. "I'm sorry." What else could he do?

>I don't care. This is a disgrace and I won't take part in it. In any of it, forget it!<, Nicolas signed on and there was ire smoldering in his eyes. >This is serious, a sorry won't cut it. You were bleeding, fucking bleeding! Does that mean anything to you? That's not okay.< Nicolas stood up from the couch and ran a hand through his hair. A gesture of distress. >I won't stand by…<

"It isn’t a big deal, really", Marshall interrupted. He followed his still-boyfriend and wrapped his arms around the other's waist, nestled against the warm body. A smile on his lips to placate him, so he didn't need to be so tense anymore. He didn't want Nicolas to leave. "I didn't even notice. Come", he kissed him again, "I promise I'm fine. I can handle it."

Nicolas grabbed Marshall's wrist and broke the embrace. "Stop", his voice was stern. "Stop it, Marshall. Look at yourself. This is fine for you? Have some self-respect."

Marshall pulled his wrists away, there was no resistance. He rubbed over them and the bruises the fight with Ryan had left behind hurt. But not as much as the rest of him. There was no need to look at himself, he knew what a pitiable sight he was. Standing here with his pants down, desperately trying to seduce his boyfriend was far from the worst he'd done. After all, he had needed the help of a stranger to not freeze to death the other night. He had been left alone fucking himself with a toy, because a wife promised love and he just didn't. He was someone's side bitch and proud of it. He got called a whore and had no way to refute. And this was only one weekend.

What did he do to earn any self-respect?

He pulled his sweats up again. Finally Nicolas had realized, what a despicable person he was. That he was wrong. That the illusion they had shared was over. "Go ahead, say it."

A questioning look was on Nicolas's face.

"That you're done with me", Marshall shrugged limply. One more relationship turned into a dumpster fire. One more face to forget.

Nicolas's hands cupped his jaw and he leaned his forehead against Marshall's. "I'm mad at the guy who used you like this. You deserve better."

Weakly he shook his head. "No, I don't. I really don't. I'm an awful person and …" He bit his lips again. Nicolas did it again, being nice to him when he didn't deserve it.

"I'm an awful person, too. Doesn't that fit nicely?", Nicolas asked, a tentative tug at the corners of his mouth.

Marshall sighed quietly. Could that fit?

"I'm not done with you", Nicolas said and the sound of his voice was like a butterfly that opened up a new colony in Marshall's stomach.


	41. Say It'll Change But It Never Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall has to give back Worick's phone. They go out for a drink.

10:32 pm. A low sigh left Marshall and he pulled the hoodie of his jacket deeper into his face. The fake fur framed the world like it was a long forgotten story. Maybe a sign of how universal and eternal his mistakes were. He would always be this wrong. Someone had to live with this curse, sadly in their generation it was him.

"Marshall?" A man leaned down into his field of view, the blond hair falling out of the fury frame and the single blue eye sparkled in the weak light of the street lamp nearby.

Marshall smiled for a second. "Worick." He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against. "Glad you could make it on such short notice. Sorry, I didn't call sooner."

A puff of cigarette smoke floated up in the night sky. "It's okay, don't worry. You feel alright?", he asked with some concern on his face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine", he waved the question aside. "I just, uhm … I wanted to thank you for your help the other night. And I, well, I …", he bit his lips for a moment. He still hadn't come up with a good idea on how exactly to thank Worick for his help. _I know something all men appreciate. You can't say no to a good blowjob, no one can._ But he didn't even know if Worick liked men. _Fine, you want to give him a few Benjamins?_ "I should give you your phone back. I'm sure you need it." Marshall patted the pockets of his jacket. In which one had he put the device?

"Nah, don't bother with money. That's what you do on the streets, that's all", Worick smiled at him reassuringly. "Wanna go out for a drink?"

Marshall shook his head. "I don't drink", he explained. Finally, he found the phone in the inside pocket. That was a safe space, he should've guessed that was where he'd put it.

"Really?", Worick asked surprised. "I could've sworn."

Embarrassed Marshall rubbed his neck. "Well, I uhm … 'Twas a hard night?"

Worick had amused twinkle in his eye. "Certainly sounded like one. Come, I'm sure they have soda there, too."

"Hm, why not", he shrugged. "Pop's fine." Marshall handed him the phone back.

"See", Worick smiled again and put the phone in his pocket. "You copied my number? If you need help again or something?"

"I wasn't sure if that was okay", he answered shyly. You didn't just take someone's number or searched through somebody else's phone without permission. He didn't even do that to his daughters, how could he do it to a stranger?

"Of course it is. Give me your phone", he demanded with a prompting gesture. Unlocking it first, Marshall gave the phone over and a few thumb movements later, he had it back. "There. If you're in a bad situation again, you can always call me, okay?" Worick began walking.

"Aight." Briefly Marshall turned around and winked toward Big Eight, who sat in his car and waited. Slowly the car set into drive and followed them, as Marshall and Worick walked down the street.

Worick watched this with a frown. "Is that your … manager?"

"What? No, he has better things to do than babysit me. That's my bodyguard", he explained halfheartedly. "Last time I lost him, you can't imagine the tongue lashing he gave me. I promised to do better … Even though, I find this ridiculous to be honest." A car driving at walking speed, that was stupid. But Big Eight insisted to not be left behind again and on a rational level Marshall knew, this was for the best.

Worick made a low sound of understanding. "Well, if something like that happens to you more often, I get it. But it's a bit, hm, invasive?"

Marshall shrugged. "You get used to it. He's a nice guy and you can talk to him and stuff. It's better than being swamped by some assholes or have a camera stuck in your face for no reason or shit like that. You know, kinda pick your poison, that sorta thing."

"Uh-huh", Worick didn't sound convinced. "Well, it's your life. If this makes you happy, go for it."

Marshall grumbled for a quick second. "I ain't a happy person, so that's a moot point." Happy wasn't a setting he could be in for long, he always found something to be sad or angry or frustrated about. Regardless what turn his life took, it always sucked in one way or another. _You only have yourself to blame, bitch._

"Really?", Worick asked and looked over his shoulder to the slowly crawling car. "Can't imagine why."

"Not that", Marshall shook his head. "It's just … I don't know, life's hard, I guess. All I wanted was for my kids to grow up right, but money doesn't replace a family. This life ain't build for families." He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Perhaps, it was more correct to say he wasn't build for family life, seeing how much he failed at being a good father.

Worick nodded in agreement. "That it certainly isn't. You have kids? Must've started young then, huh?"

Marshall smiled cheeky. "I'm older than I look."

"That's a good feature to have. Not everyone can pull off old age and still be sexy." Worick rubbed over his chin and the light stubble he had. It highlighted his sharp jawline.

A low sigh. "Tell me about it. People already tell me, I'm too old and should quit. That I ain't as good as I used to be and shit." He knew they were right, but he still wanted to rap, wanted to stand on a stage, wanted to prove them wrong. He might be old, but he wasn't grown up.

Worick nodded to the side, to a staircase that lead down a few steps to a dark wooden door. "Is that why you overdid it? I mean, I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but you should always be able to get home on your own two feet. That's my rule, anyways."

"What?" Marshall frowned, but he followed the blonde down and into the bar.

There was a lot of dark wood and rough stone, the room was rather small and felt a little cramped. Worick ordered them their drinks and they settled down at a small table.

"I'm just saying", Worick explained, "There have to be some limits. Whatever he payed you, wasn't really worth freezing to death for, was it. That won't help your kids."

Marshall blinked at him. "He didn't pa- … Man!", he caught himself and shook his head. "Dude, I ain't a hooker. What'd you think."

"No?", he asked slightly surprised.

Marshall shook his head again. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Well …", Worick looked Marshall over closely, a short gesture with the cigarette pointed to him. "You made a rather fucked out impression. I mean, you almost said as much. If that was your boyfriend, I would find me another one, honestly."

Marshall huffed. "He ain't my boyfriend. My boyfriend's awesome, just so you know." Too awesome for a fuck-up like him.

"I think, you need to explain that to me more thoroughly", Worick asked with a smirk. "And your bodyguard. Is your boyfriend sending him after you?"

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. He might be a little bit of a slut - _Might be? What other word could possibly fit you? -_ but he didn't want Worick to think of him as a whore. "But you can't tell anyone, aight." For some reason, he liked the blonde.

Worick looked a bit confused. "Why would I?"

"Just, you can't", Marshall insisted and Worick nodded briefly. "First of all, the bodyguard's cause I'm a musician and paparazzi and fans, well, they're sometimes annoying." Keeping things simple and vague was his best move. Wasn't like he could trust a stranger with his secret, even though Worick surely was a nice guy. Still, caution. "And Saturday was, that was … I was with a good friend of mine and we kinda have an affair going. In the middle of things, his wife called him home, so of course he had to go. Only problem was, I lost my phone, that's why I was wandering around."

"Oh", Worick made an understanding sound. "I see. You ain't a hooker, you're a cheater. Sorry, I mixed that up."

Marshall growled low. "Ain't something I'm proud of, aight."

"Sorry, sorry", Worick smiled apologetically. "Does your boyfriend know?"

Marshall sighed deeply and nodded. He took a sip from the coke, which cooled his throat. "He does, unfortunately." Saying, they could keep things … casual. No. Nicolas should've broken up with him. Why hadn't he?

Lighting a new cigarette, Worick didn't answer for a short moment. Then he looked at Marshall closely again, before he asked: "Are you two breaking up?"

"I believe so. He's … He said, he don't mind, but that ain't the kind of person he is, you know." A shrug. If he could promise to never cheat on Nicolas again, he might be able to save their relationship, but he didn't promise things he couldn't keep. Whatever his future was holding for him, refusing Ryan's dick wasn't part of that. He didn't even know what that would look like. _Of course you don't, you only know how to get dick, not how to refuse it, slut._

"You're really keeping the affair with your friend?" Worick was a curious person.

Marshall shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess. We're a good fit, you know."

A frown showed itself on Worick's face.

"I mean …", Marshall started up again to explain this. But how could he explain this? He was an asshole. _And one that needs to get stuffed bad._ "I don't know. I don't want to hurt him, I really don't."

Worick hummed low. "Can't argue with you there, sounds pretty much like you're an asshole. You could at least make an effort, if you care about him so much, right."

"I did, I tried!", he defended himself. "But he rejected me", a quiet sob. Marshall slumped over and his forehead met the wooden tabletop. Nothing sexy had happened today, nothing at all. Considering they weren't on the no-sex rule anymore, this was a bad sign. Nicolas pushed him away, even worse of a sign.

"What did you try?", Worick asked and petted his head lightly.

It felt nice. "I apologized, obviously", he answered. Worick's hand was really big, no wonder for a giant like him. He must be as tall as Ryan, Marshall was sure. "I told him, I was sorry. And I mean it, I really do."

"But you won't change", Worick stated dryly.

Marshall folded his arms under his head to have it a little more comfortable. "I try, I do. But habits don't change in a day, my therapist says."

Worick's hand was still stroking his head. "What else?"

"Well, it got a bit romantic, that was nice. He was into it, too. But when we got down to it, he … He pushed me away. Sure, I get it, my ass probably looks as bad as it feels, I wouldn't want to see how somebody else had wrecked it _while_ we're fucking. I understand. But he didn't even want me to suck him. Can you imagine?", he looked up at Worick. "He turned me down, all of me, completely." Somehow it felt worse than when Kim had refused his advances. Wasn't like he'd wanted to have sex with her, that was just something you did with your wife. With Nicolas it was different.

"Sounds a bit like he's hurt?", Worick suggested and his hand lingered on Marshall's cheek for a moment, before the change of position forced it away. "Is that all you tried, an apology and sex?"

"Uhm …", he kneaded his lips. Said like that, it sounded wrong and like way too little. "He surprised me!", he defended himself. "I didn't know he'd come by today and find everything out. I would've planned something better, if I'd known."

Worick frowned pensively. "So, let me get this straight. When your boyfriend found out you cheated on him, your first impulse was to have sex with him? Yeah, you need a better plan, my friend." A smirk on the other's lips.

Marshall couldn't entirely suppress the pout he was falling into. "That's how we met after all, that should count as romantic."

"Huh, you're one of those kinds of musicians, aren't you. Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll?"

"Well, I stopped with the drugs", he shrugged.

Worick smiled at him with a knowing spark in his eye. "But not with the sex."

For a second, Marshall looked away in a sheepish gesture. He should be better, but he wasn't. "Normally there ain't no reason to", he muttered. "I don't do this relationship shit." Except now._ Just break up with the guy, there're plenty more dicks in the sea. Like, right in front of you, fag._

Worick tilted his head slightly. "Then why're you in one right now? If sex is how you met, it doesn't sound like a relationship was a prerequisite for you two."

"It wasn't", Marshall agreed. "I don't know, it kinda happened." _You're a romantic girl, always looking for your knight in shining armor, that's how it happened. And that's what's making me sick. _"It's quite nice most of the time", he admitted in a quiet voice. Biting his lips again.

"Then, maybe, you should try harder to keep him?", Worick suggested.

"I am!", he insisted.

Worick smiled provocative and leaned forward. "Are you?"

Marshall frowned at that.

"I mean, not only are you two-timing him without any effort to end that … You're also flirting with me."

Marshall frowned harder. "No, I ain't." _But you should and you know you want to, slut._

"Yes, you are. Don't play coy with me now. I know all the tricks." Worick leaned forward even more, a winning grin on his lips. "See, I _am_ a hooker by trade."

He swallowed hard. "Oh?" He could feel the other's breath on his cheeks.

"I know the looks, the hand gestures, what tone of voice is best … I'm kind of impressed with your style, to be honest, and that you managed with a topic like this, I certainly would've chosen something else to flirt over."

Rubbing his neck, Marshall didn't know what to say. _I know: Let's drop the pretense and just fuck. That's a nice little line._ "I uhm … I didn't mean to, I'm sorry." His face warmed slightly with bashfulness.

Worick smiled amused. "You can stop, now. I don't take male clients, usually, but I'd be willing to make an exception for you. I certainly can take care of your … how did you put it, needy hole?"

Marshall cocked his head. When had he said that? He never said stuff like that out loud. "You would?", he asked, biting his lips again. That certainly was a tempting invitation. Worick's looks were well suited to a job like this, the long blonde hair and the bright blue eye were handsome, downright pretty. The eyepatch gave him something mysterious, venturous. One could imagine to be whisked away with passion in this man's arms, no doubt.

A short kiss on Marshall's lips. Surprised he leaned back an inch and only the movement made him aware, how close they had been and how far away the backrest of his chair was. Not just Worick had been leaning forward over the table, but so had Marshall himself. Their faces meeting in the middle, having been close for God knew how long. Now, Marshall's hand reached out and buried itself in the blond hair, kissing the other man back with more intensity. He could taste the cigarettes and the beer on Worick's tongue. A tongue that certainly took after the venturous side of his appearance, passionate and demanding.

His pants vibrated and this spurred on the tingling in his dick that the kiss had started. Worick might not have male clients, but his tongue didn't let on about it. _Maybe he's kissing you like a woman, fag, certainly fits you better._ Couldn't he just enjoy the kiss?

"Don't you wanna check that?", Worick asked with a husky whisper between their lips, still kissing lightly between each word.

"Nah", he mumbled. "It's late, can wait till t'morrow."

Worick smiled amused. "We have time, no need to rush anything."

_Fuck that. Let's do it right here, right now. Get your needy ass on the table, slut._

"Hm, could be the kids." After all, they were still worried about him. In a way, he understood. How he had come home, all broken-down and barely functioning, plus how depressed Sunday had slipped by him and he'd been unable to do anything, of course they worried. But he didn't appreciate them fighting with him over these things. He was a grown man and if he wanted to meet a friend, he had every right to do so; regardless if his daughters had an opinion on the matter or not. This time, their opinion was loud and clear and negative. "I better check", with a low, regretting sound he parted their lips and pulled the phone out of his pocket.

"Fuck", he exhaled. The message wasn't from his daughters, but from Nicolas. It read: sweet dreams, ice princess

Not again! He was the worst fucking boyfriend! How was he doing the exact same thing again, just a few hours after they had barely circumvented a breakup? This was not happening!

But it was. The taste of Worick's cigarette was on the tip of his tongue.

Worick raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What is it?"

"It's my boyfriend", and he showed the message to the blonde.

A quiet laugh. "Ice princess? How cute is that. Are you into drag or what's that about?" A leering gaze trailed over Marshall.

Marshall blushed violently. "Shut up", he growled sharply. "He says that every night." It was a warm gesture and Marshall liked it. It felt like something a real couple might do, having a routine for saying good night. Besides, it sounded like Nicolas meant something specific, something special with it and that felt really romantic.

"Okay, weirdo, but why that?", Worick asked.

Marshall blinked at him. "How would I know?"

Worick lit a new cigarette. "Maybe you should ask him … ice princess." An amused wink.

Grumbling Marshall typed: you say that every night

"You know", Worick's tone was quite suggestive, "If that's what you're in to, I can certainly work with it. Like I said, I don't take male clients, I rather have you be a woman, honestly." Softly his fingertips caressed Marshall's cheek and the thumb stroked over Marshall's lips. "Plus, you have a delicate face, I can totally see you working that angle."

Another buzz from his phone, the short melody rang that said it was Nicolas.

Instantly, Marshall stood up, his sore muscles complaining against the fast movement. "This was a bad idea. I have a boyfriend, you know."

"Well, you don't really care about that", Worick said nonchalantly and took a sip from his beer. "Your story was very clear on that."

"I do", he snarled. "Goodbye." He took his jacket and left the table. His barely drunken glass of pop stayed behind.

"You have my number, if you change your mind", Worick called after him.

Marshall flipped him the middle finger and left the bar. Now he was glad, Big Eight was standing right in front.


	42. Text Messages (Skit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more text messages between Marshall and Nicolas.

Nicolas: sweet dreams, ice princess

Marshall: you say that every night

Nicolas: so? you don't like it?

Marshall: no no, I do, kinda

Nicolas: kinda?

Marshall: doesn't it sound weird to you?

Nicolas: weird how?

Marshall: I mean, what am I, a disney cartoon?

Nicolas: well, yah, kinda

Marshall: kinda?

Nicolas: you easily break out into a song mid-sentence. you didn't have a father, or much of a mother, but an evil step-parent. you like animals. you had a near-death experience. you overcame some very long odds. you look very pretty in a dress, and eternally young. you have a rebellious character. need I go on?

Marshall: you like disney movies? really?

Nicolas: doesn't everybody?

Marshall: I only watch them cause of my daughters. Whitney's still running through the house with a frying pan. she wants to grow her hair to her ankles now

Nicolas: sounds about right

Marshall: not if that's what you mean. I ain't a stupid princess, disney or otherwise

Nicolas: don't tell me, you're the only girl who didn't want to be a princess growing up?

Marshall: damnit, why do I have to remind you that I ain't a girl?

Nicolas: for the same reason I have to remind you that I'm well aware of your dick?

Marshall: I don't even look like a girl. never have

Nicolas: I like how you look. I could watch you all day

Marshall: that I wore a dress once or twice doesn't mean anything

Nicolas: it looked good on you. adorable. beautiful

Marshall: stop saying that!

Nicolas: calm down, I mean it as a compliment

Marshall: how can I calm down? you take me for a girl. you want me to be a girl. I ain't a fucking girl! if you want pussy so bad, fucking date one! this shit's fucking stupid

Nicolas: you want me to say "sweet dreams, kitten" instead?

Marshall: no! I want you to fucking stop saying this bullshit altogether

Nicolas: you just said you like it

Marshall: I'd like it more, if you stopped calling me a girl all the damn time

Nicolas: I don't mean it literal

Marshall: but you're saying it, so you must mean something!

Nicolas: yeah, as a compliment. just take it, alright?

Marshall: no, it's not alright, dickhead. how you like it if I kept calling you a girl?

Nicolas: that's not the same thing

Marshall: it's humiliating, that's what it is

Nicolas: again, I don't mean it literal and I don't mean it in a bad way

Marshall: just stop it, aight

Nicolas: fine. what pet name would you like me to call you?

Marshall: you don't have to call me anything. marshall's fine

Nicolas: that's not very affectionate

Marshall: so? I call you by your name, ain't that enough?

Nicolas: I think you're beautiful and precious and I want to protect you. and I like your eyes, they're stunning. Marshall doesn't really say all that

Marshall: you still talk like I'm a girl. precious? what's fucking wrong with you?

Nicolas: you always have something to bitch about when I compliment you, you notice that?

Marshall: only cause you're doing it wrong!

Nicolas: I call you ice princess, cause that's how I see you: cold, sublime, self-absorbed, beautiful, gracious, headstrong

Marshall: you ain't making it better, you never sound like you like me. besides, you could go for prince if you absolutely have to

Nicolas: I thought you'd like princess better

Marshall: of course I don't like it better! who likes being called a girl? what shat in your head?

Nicolas: well, I thought it'd be good for you, you know, it doesn't seem like you can give your more feminine side a lot of room normally. and I don't mind

Marshall: I don't have a feminine side! fucking asshole!

Nicolas: sure … I must've imagined you liking to take care of people, that you're sensitive and emotional and artful, how could I gotten that wrong, hm?

Marshall: fuck you! I ain't NOTHING like that, fucking son of a bitch! take that back!

Nicolas: aren't you a little overreacting here?

Marshall: I haven't even started, fucker! I'll show you overreacting!

Nicolas: come on, everyone has that. ain't like there's a clear cut or anything. it's just a bunch of cliches, no reason to freak out

Marshall: I ain't freaking out! I'm just pissed at you for saying all this bullshit. if you stopped, I wouldn't have to be so pissed. it's all your fucking fault!

Nicolas: you being a bit of a drama queen right now

Marshall: goddamnit! I'm NOT a fucking woman! you fucking asshole!

Nicolas: you sure? don't you like being called a slut? that means woman, too

Marshall: I don't like that either!

Nicolas: I got a very different impression

Marshall: fuck your impression!

Nicolas: you call yourself a slut quite often. and when I called you that, it was very obvious you liked it

Marshall: I fucking don't! your lip-reading must be broken

Nicolas: my lip-reading's fine. but maybe you should listen to yourself more often

Marshall: I listen to myself enough

Nicolas: in any case, I don't mind. it's not a big deal that you like it, you know

Marshall: of course it is, dumbass. I ain't a girl, how often do I have to tell you that?

Nicolas: you don't have to play macho in front of me

Marshall: I ain't playing nothing, aight

Nicolas: just be who you are

Marshall: I fucking am

Nicolas: that's why you throw a tantrum over a pet name?

Marshall: it ain't a very good pet name, blame yourself

Nicolas: I stand by it, ice princess is perfect for you

Marshall: too bad! you ain't prince charming, fucker, don't kid yourself

Nicolas: I know, I'm more like the beast

Marshall: you are? what now?

Nicolas: yeah, I have you captive and won't let you go. a fair warning though: I won't turn into a nice prince at the end. you're too late to lift my curse

Marshall: I always liked the beast more anyway

* * *

Marshall: you should've seen this. absolutely hilarious and silly. kids, man

Nicolas: do tell

Marshall: my girls organized - get this - a shadow boxing tournament

Nicolas: really? wouldn't have thought they're into boxing

Marshall: not really, they get mostly bored when I watch TV. anyway, they set everything up with lights and score board and stuff, even a self-made belt

Nicolas: dedicated

Marshall: that they are. they make their shadows box and everything. Hailie's on a winning streak, but Lainy could best her. then, Hailie hits Lainy in the face for real

Nicolas: accident?

Marshall: Lainy's nose starts to bleed and what's her comment? "my shadow's bleeding"

Nicolas: she's as nonsensical as you. sounds like a concussion?

Marshall: nah, she's fine. she didn't like my play-by-play, so she did her own

Nicolas: I can imagine your commentary, kinda glad I don't have to listen to you

Marshall: hey, I'm a great commentator

Nicolas: you would say that

Marshall: pff, you're just jealous

Nicolas: that must be it

Marshall: yap, my jokes were on point like always. I only sometimes forgot to announce the score, but who cares about that

Nicolas: did she at least best her sister? you know, bleeding and suffering through your commentary and all, she deserves a medal for that

Marshall: nope, Hailie won and is parading her belt around. it's cute

Nicolas: like father like daughter, I guess

* * *

Nicolas: people are the fucking worst sometimes

Marshall: preach

Nicolas: can you explain to me, what's so bad about a cockroach?

Marshall: how does that link?

Nicolas: there was one in the kitchen and they both jumped me when they saw it

Marshall: who jumped you? your flatmates? and ew, in your kitchen? clean up, man

Nicolas: yeah, both of them, at the same time. cause of one single cockroach. fucking ridiculous

Marshall: pff how? can you even do that? I don't think you're tall enough to pick me up, let alone catch two people mid-jump

Nicolas: screw you, I can pick you up fine. I show you next time, you'll see

Marshall: I guess the singer girl's about your height, that probably works out. what's her name anyway? I always forget

Nicolas: I already picked you up and fucked you like that. I can totally do that

Marshall: you had a door to help you

Nicolas: so? that was for your benefit, not mine

Marshall: sure, tell yourself that. don't change the fact that you're small

Nicolas: you don't need height, strength solves all your problems

Marshall: well, you are quite strong, I give you that much

Nicolas: you love it

Marshall: … it's a bit impressive

* * *

Marshall: you ever realized, we say kmart's? that's a bit weird

Nicolas: you gonna explain to me how now, won't you

Marshall: you don't think it's weird?

Nicolas: I don't think about stuff like this

Marshall: and not just kmart's, target's, myer's. we put an s on everything, like it's possessive

Nicolas: is that so?

Marshall: yeah, like, I don't know, there might be some guy named Kmart and it's his place. so, it's kmart's

Nicolas: maybe there is?

Marshall: no, I looked it up

Nicolas: you did?

Marshall: yeah, the guy was called kresge. so if anything, it should be k's mart

Nicolas: of course, obviously

Marshall: that's probably what he meant anyway

Nicolas: sounds like it

Marshall: no, it sounds like k's smart

Nicolas: sure

Marshall: but it only happens here, I think. that's the really weird part

Nicolas: what you mean?

Marshall: it's a Michigan-thing, the same way we say party store but others don't

Nicolas: okay

Marshall: you have those things in ASL, too? things, you sign here but not in the rest of the country?

Nicolas: guess there's variation, but it's not a big deal, you can infer from context

Marshall: really? sounds like fun, I'ma have to look it up

Nicolas: the things you do for fun …

* * *

Nicolas: why you sending me pictures of pillows?

Marshall: that's a blanket fort. it needed pillows, all the pillows

Nicolas: of course, why was I asking

Marshall: what you think of it?

Nicolas: nice? you inviting me for a sleep over?

Marshall: Whitney said, it needed more blankets, less pillows

Nicolas: well, it is called a blanket fort

Marshall: that's her argument, too. but you can call it a pillow fort also and pillows are way more cushy and comfortable

Nicolas: maybe depends on how you use blankets

Marshall: no. no blanket can compete with a good pillow

Nicolas: well, from the pictures I take it you convinced her?

Marshall: you don't like the pillows?

Nicolas: you two had fun with your fort?

Marshall: very much. we had to fight a dragon and rescue her teddies from it. she was rapunzel and used her hair as a weapon, and a frying pan of course. she's still on that movie

Nicolas: sounds fun and cute

Marshall: that's my little girl. and you know what else?

Nicolas: no, tell me

Marshall: I bought her a set of cookie cutters the other day. she loves it

Nicolas: that's great. you gonna bake some christmas cookies together then?

Marshall: surprisingly yes

Nicolas: why is that surprising? you just fought a dragon together, I'm sure you can conquer a kitchen

Marshall: not that. I get around a kitchen well enough

Nicolas: I thought so. I mean, you cook well, doesn't that extend to baking?

Marshall: it's edible, I guess. I just thought she and her mom would, you know, like the other girls in her class

Nicolas: did her mom shut that down?

Marshall: I don't think so. Whitney just decided I would have to bake with her

Nicolas: well, she wants what she wants. ain't she old enough to make her own cookie related decisions?

Marshall: she's 8, that's about all she's old enough for

Nicolas: see. I'm sure you gonna survive it just fine, don't worry

Marshall: why would I be worried? we gonna bake the best cookies ever, you'll see

Nicolas: set some aside for me. I wanna see and taste them for myself

Marshall: I will. I can bring some when we meet for christmas?

Nicolas: perfect

* * *

Marshall: btw how's your cat doing?

Nicolas: fine. she has the time of her life from the looks of it

Marshall: how so?

Nicolas: she almost ate hina the other day

Marshall: who?

Nicolas: the bird my doc's niece coddles up

Marshall: the girl you play with sometimes?

Nicolas: yap

Marshall: did the bird survive?

Nicolas: he's fine. he's chirping and playing and stuff

Marshall: it's sad that birds have to live without hands, don't you think?

Nicolas: … can we meet? now?

Marshall: why now?

Nicolas: you're fucking adorable

Marshall: dude!

Nicolas: I'm serious. that's the cutest line I ever read

Marshall: cuddle your cat

Nicolas: why? I have you for that

Marshall: no, you don't

Nicolas: betty ain't a cuddly cat, though

Marshall: not my problem

Nicolas: come on, you know you love it. I won't tell anyone, I promise

Marshall: I ain't know nothing, no chance

Nicolas: alright, fine, you ain't a cuddly cat either

Marshall: I can fucking hear your eyes rolling

Nicolas: good, then you now how silly you being

Marshall: no cat's truly cuddly, idiot. they killers, all of them. they only use us to get what they want

Nicolas: well, betty ain't a good one, the bird's still alive after all

Marshall: maybe you can teach her?

Nicolas: maybe. I could certainly get the bird in front of her paws again

Marshall: really? what's with the girl, won't she be sad?

Nicolas: I buy her a different bird, if necessary. this thing's just nasty

Marshall: why? did he shit on you?

Nicolas: luckily no. though that might've been better, I'm not sure

Marshall: what happened?

Nicolas: well, every time I pet him, he gets really into it, way too much. he always rubs his ass on the table when I do it. and only when I do it. you know, what that means? that's how birds fuck, they rub their butts

Marshall: hehe

Nicolas: you think this is funny?

Marshall: come on, how can I not?

Nicolas: I don't know, feel sorry for me? I get sexed at by a stupid bird

Marshall: how can I feel sorry? I totally get him, every time you pet me, I get horny as fuck, too

Nicolas: well, true

Marshall: and you love it, when I rub my ass on you

Nicolas: oh hell yeah

* * *

Nicolas: have to cancel. talk later

Marshall: what? why?

Marshall: okay then?

Nicolas: sorry about our date. my old boss needed me, was an emergency. but we gonna make good for it, I promise

Marshall: your old boss? emergency? what?

Nicolas: sorry, I can’t really explain things to you, I’m afraid

Marshall: why not?

Nicolas: he’s the head of a syndicate, it’s not really advisable to speak about these things with people from the outside

Marshall: but we're dating

Nicolas: it’s better for you, too, you have a family to think about

Marshall: I get that, but ... it sometimes feels like I only know half of you

Nicolas: there ain’t much to know about me, maybe it’s that

Marshall: I don’t even know your best friend’s name. is he part of this syndicate, too?

Nicolas: no, we left together

Marshall: I get that I shouldn’t know too much and that the rest of your life probably ain’t all sunshine and roses and that it's hard to talk about shit, but if you want us to know each other, you have to tell me some things

Nicolas: like what?

Marshall: like that, the names of your friends and maybe let me meet them. you met my friends

Nicolas: that’s different, you love your friends and need them

Marshall: and you don’t?

Nicolas: not in the same way, no

Marshall: come on!

Nicolas: people are different when it comes to these things

Marshall: I know that, I'm not stupid. but you fucking live with them, you have to be close to each other. then you can't act like you're some hermit who has no friends and shit

Nicolas: I don't act like that

Marshall: yes, you do. why else won't you let me meet them?

Nicolas: I don't think it'll end well

Marshall: I can behave, I promise

Nicolas: not what I meant

Marshall: then what? they're your friends, that's important, you said

Nicolas: fine, okay, whatever. you wanna know why?

Marshall: yes!

Nicolas: don't complain later I didn't warn you

Marshall: start explaining already

Nicolas: okay, okay. I told you my father sold me, right?

Marshall: yeah, I remember. I still can’t believe that actually happened, here even

Nicolas: long story short, my best friend was the one who bought me. it doesn’t matter if I like him or hate him, I cannot leave either way

Marshall: what? why would he do that? did he try to free you or something?

Nicolas: maybe. we were kids and I don’t think he thought that through all that much

Marshall: but you’re friends, right? I mean, he ain’t really insisting on you being ... his servant? property? pet? what is this?

Nicolas: mostly not

Marshall: mostly?

Nicolas: I have my duties towards him. look, I’m sure this is weird for you and I don't lie to you, but I don’t start a conversation like this for a reason. you’re a regular person and I live in a rather different world to yours. I just don’t want you to get trapped in mine

Marshall: I can handle that

Nicolas: that’s not the point

Marshall: then what’s your fucking point? cause if you don’t even trust me to meet your friends, how can we keep dating?

Nicolas: it's not about you, it's them I don' trust

Marshall: is that supposed to make me feel better?

Nicolas: in this line of work, you can’t really trust anyone

Marshall: ... and you can’t trust me either

Nicolas: fine, alright, I tell you what happened last night. my old boss was attacked, somebody put a hit out for him and the gun hired was way stronger than his usual bodyguards. when this became apparent, he called us - specifically me - to deal with that person, read: kill that person. normal, right?

Marshall: for you, I guess so

Nicolas: you know what he and his bodyguards did while I fought? they took out bets on who wins and who dies. does that sound like people I should introduce to my boyfriend? no, I don’t think so

Marshall: they bet on you dying? that's seriously fucked up

Nicolas: I thought you say that

Marshall: are you alright? I mean, you survived, guess I should take that as a win

Nicolas: I’m okay. the fight was interrupted anyway. I spent most of last night passed out at the clinic

Marshall: … I'm glad then? I ain't sure what to say, honestly

Nicolas: you don't have to say anything. just, I don't want you to get sucked up in this, that's why I don't go out of my way to tell you stuff. you live a cozy, domestic life and you worked very hard to get it. I don't want to ruin it for you

Marshall: nothing you do will ruin it, believe me

* * *

Marshall: what're you doing?

Nicolas: reading

Marshall: of course. you ever do anything else? something that's actually fun?

Nicolas: I'm assuming, you're bored?

Marshall: hell yeah

Nicolas: how about you sleep? it's the middle of the night

Marshall: you ain't sleeping

Nicolas: that's why I'm reading. calms me down after work

Marshall: nope, books still annoy me, won't do me any good

Nicolas: you surely have something else to tire you out?

Marshall: tried that already, didn't help, I'm still bored and awake

Nicolas: obviously. what did you try?

Marshall: jerking off

Nicolas: really?

Marshall: what?

Nicolas: I don't know, seems bit odd?

Marshall: you seem odd, bitch

Nicolas: ouch?

Marshall: fuck you

Nicolas: can I ask you something?

Marshall: sure, I texted you to entertain me, so yeah, ask away

Nicolas: you remember the night with the collar?

Marshall: … vaguely?

Nicolas: you said at one point, that you were always needy. I assumed that was more a spur of the moment thing or whatever. was I wrong to assume that?

Marshall: did I say that?

Nicolas: yes, you did. and you acted a bit needy, too, and rather overt

Marshall: well, was a hot night. should've I acted all shy and mousy instead?

Nicolas: I'm okay with you acting how you feel

Marshall: don't weasel out of it

Nicolas: I can find good qualities in both

Marshall: seriously, you started it, now answer it

Nicolas: if you press me, I like overtness more than shyness

Marshall: well, if you like it more anyway, why're you complaining about it?

Nicolas: I don't ask to complain, I ask cause it seems to be an ongoing trend?

Marshall: I'm sorry, really

Nicolas: it's okay. I'm just wondering if that's normal for you or if something's going on

Marshall: I'm not a good person

Nicolas: I don't care about good or bad, don't forget what my work is

Marshall: then why're you talking about this?

Nicolas: cause it seems odd sometimes

Marshall: odd? you're the one who's kinky here, you're odd

Nicolas: not that kind of odd. more the you're not that kind of person kind of odd

Marshall: what?

Nicolas: what I mean is, in every other circumstance I know you, you're a strong-willed person with a quick temper, an insolent mouth and a big heart. but when it comes to sex, you're … I don't know, different

Marshall: different how? wait, do I wanna know? you always describe me in the worst ways. you always make me wonder why you're with me in the first place

Nicolas: I like you, don't worry about it

Marshall: then why're you never saying something nice about me?

Nicolas: I do, all the time. you always shut me down

Marshall: I don't do that

Nicolas: whatever, that's not my point. when it comes to sex you're all over the place. honestly, I'm not sure what to make of it

Marshall: no, I ain't. what you mean?

Nicolas: like, the night with the collar, you were really overt and needy, but also somehow ... I don't know, sad? and then angry and maybe panicked. I did not expect any of this

Marshall: I'm sorry I ruined it

Nicolas: you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm just confused, I guess

Marshall: how can I make it up to you?

Nicolas: you don't have to make it up at all, you didn't do anything wrong

Marshall: of course I did, I ruined your night

Nicolas: I'm pretty sure, you're the one whose time was ruined

Marshall: it was your night, we didn't even do much and I ruined it. I'm really sorry

Nicolas: don't be, it's alright

Marshall: if you say so

Nicolas: you still haven't answered my question

Marshall: what question?

Nicolas: if this is normal for you or if something's going on?

Marshall: I'm sorry, I won't ruin it again, I promise

Nicolas: you're not listening to me, there's nothing for you to be sorry for

Marshall: then why you keep talking about this? can't we talk about something else? this ain't entertaining nor sleep inducing

Nicolas: I worry about you

Marshall: why? I'm fine

Nicolas: are you?

Marshall: yes, I am

Nicolas: just, you can tell me if something's going on. maybe I can try and help?

Marshall: I'm fine. and if I ain't, I have my therapist for that. don't worry

Nicolas: I know you're a moody person, so I can see how this could influence things. maybe you could give me some pointers on how to deal with this better? I don't want to hurt you

Marshall: since when? you specifically told me, you want to break me and tear me apart, for me to be in pain and all that

Nicolas: yes and I still want that, very much so

Marshall: there again, that doesn't sound like you like me

Nicolas: but I do like you

Marshall: that's why you want me in pain?

Nicolas: yes

Marshall: why should I give you any pointers to do that better?

Nicolas: what? that's not what I said

Marshall: then what are you saying?

Nicolas: you make this really hard, you know that?

Marshall: you started it

Nicolas: what I mean is, when it comes to sex you're all over the place and there don't seem to be any reasons. it's a bit hard to navigate sometimes

Marshall: I want sex with you, how's that hard to navigate?

Nicolas: … you want more detail? fine, here's more detail. like, when we first met you were assertive and confident, the second time still so with a bit of excitement maybe and when you blew me for the first time you were easily submissive without me doing anything and you seemed to enjoy it quite some. but when we went to your house you were so nervous and anxious, I almost thought you cried and when I suggested we don't have sex, since you were clearly too tense to enjoy it, you seemed so shocked and kinda frightened even? what was that? that morning was really romantic and slow and I thought you liked it, but you were still hesitant and so sad. and I thought, maybe that has something to do with you having trouble being gay, which probably is understandable. but at your party, every time you looked at me, that was pure flirt and you were so passionate and lustful, I could barely hold it together. then, the night with the collar, you were so goddamn needy and provocative, like, I mean, you waited for me fingering yourself, hello? you seemed so eager to be submissive, to suck me, to get fucked by me and just, like, I don't know, like you could burst with sex. it truly was a sight to behold. amazing. until you crashed and panicked and got angry and depressed. why a picture caused that, I still got no fucking clue. then, at the club, I don't know if anything happened with that hooker, but at least you seemed relaxed for a change. and like the car sex, that was just hot and determined. the other day at the studio though, that was only desperation, I mean, you were in no shape for sex, yet you begged for it. and whatever happened to you in between I don't know, but from the looks of it, it was wild and harsh

Marshall: oh my god

Nicolas: do you see, what I mean? every time we meet it's so different, I don't know what to make of it

Marshall: this is fucking embarrassing!

Nicolas: I know

Marshall: and it all sounds bad

Nicolas: what? why? this all can be and was quite fun. I just like to know, if this is normal for you or not, you know, if this is you being moody or whatever

Marshall: I ain't moody, not like this anyway

Nicolas: I don't mind, it keeps things interesting. but if something else is going on, maybe you could tell me?

Marshall: why? so you can make this even more humiliating? forget it

Nicolas: that's not what I'm trying to do here

Marshall: you're succeeding anyway

Nicolas: I want this to be fun for us both. but from my perspective, it sometimes doesn't look that way

Marshall: well, maybe your perspective is broken. I mean, how could I have fun when you want me to be in pain anyway?

Nicolas: that's supposed to be fun for you, too

Marshall: yap, your perspective is broken

Nicolas: why? pain can heighten things for some people

Marshall: pain is pain

Nicolas: I thought you liked it a bit rough? you seemed to enjoy the spanking

Marshall: that's different. and I shouldn't have

Nicolas: you shouldn't have? how you mean?

Marshall: nothing!

Nicolas: you sure?

Marshall: can we talk about something else? this is too embarrassing, really

Nicolas: I don’t think you answered my question yet

Marshall: damnit, you and your fucking question. if something's hot, sex is always the best option. that answer enough for you?

Nicolas: you really think that?

Marshall: yes, for fuck's sake

Nicolas: even when you're in a bad shape like last week?

Marshall: of course. you're my boyfriend, I won't let a bitchy hole get in the away of that

Nicolas: are you sure?

Marshall: I don't get what your problem is. you stopped things, twice, maybe you're moody when you fuck people. ever thought about that?

Nicolas: I actually enjoy spending time with you, I don't need for us to have sex every chance we get

Marshall: you serious?

Nicolas: I repeat, I like you

Marshall: okay, sure, but even so we can still fuck, right? I mean, you can like me and fuck me at the same time, that's possible, yes?

Nicolas: that's really important to you, isn't it?

Marshall: of course it is. it isn't to you?

Nicolas: not in the same way, I think

Marshall: okay? what does that mean? for us?

Nicolas: does it need to mean anything?

Marshall: I don't know

Nicolas: as long as you're happy, things are alright. I just wanted to make sure that you are

Marshall: I am

Nicolas: okay, then, maybe I don’t need to worry?

Marshall: see, told you not to worry. I'm fine

Nicolas: yes, you say that. well, you should get some sleep now

Marshall: man, I'm still not tired

Nicolas: sweet dreams, ice princess


	43. I'm Normal During the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall calls for an emergency session with his therapist.

He threw the door shut behind himself and his hands flew in wild, desperate gestures. "He knows. He fucking knows!" It was only a matter of time, when Nicolas would have enough of him. Marshall already had enough of himself. "You need to fix me. Now!"

This time, she sat at her desk and looked at him with question. An elegant movement of her hand invited him to sit down on the couch.

But he kept standing. "It's really bad, Doc. You have to do something." If there was anything that could be done. Perhaps he was a lost cause. Probably. Certainly.

"What happened?", she asked. With quick movements her hands closed the file she had been working and brought her paperwork into order. "You haven't called in between appointments for a long time." Her eyes examined him closely. "You seem shook." He felt worse. "Is there any trouble with your sobriety?"

He let out a deep breath. "No, that's … I'm alright." Now he sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. "It's Nicolas. And Ryan. And the cheating. Everything's going to shit."

"I'm afraid, you need to elaborate on that. What happened?", she asked again and came around the desk. She sat down on her chair.

"I'm stupid and an asshole. Colossally stupid and even more of an asshole, that's what happened." He thought he could handle this by himself, but he should've known better. He should've come here sooner. He should have - a theme of his life.

She slid to the edge of her seat. "Try and start at the beginning, if you can. Take a deep breath and tell me, what happened."

So he took a deep breath. Then a second one. Marshall lowered his hands, but kept his gaze fixed on them as he spoke. "Last Friday - no, it started the weekend before that. I went out with Ryan as friends, right." He needed to stop lying. In here, to her he needed to be truthful. A fixed lie wouldn't help him. "Not just as friends", he admitted with a low voice. "I dressed up a bit and put a cute act on, he likes that, you know. Things worked out great, we ended up in his apartment and got it on and …", his voice trailed off. Marshall cleared his throat and pushed the memories from that Saturday night out of his mind. "We have an affair now. Which is bad enough on its own, but Nicolas knows about it. It's a fucking nightmare", he lamented and buried his face in the palms of his hands again. If only he could shut out the world.

She was silent for a moment. "That is quite a development." There was surprise in her voice, but also suspicion. "Am I interpreting things correctly, that you wanted the affair with Ryan to happen? Since you dressed up for him and acted how he likes things."

Marshall nodded. He wanted it and that made everything much worse. Wasn't he with Nicolas? Didn't he want him, too? He wanted too much. Why was he fucking things up?

"How did Nicolas find out?", she asked.

Harshly he rubbed over his eyes, the pressure behind them was hard to bear. "He came to the studio that Monday. Everything was fucking obvious. Ryan had made me a hickey and shit and the two of them almost broke out into a fight. Nicolas even said that he knows I was with someone. That he expects me to be with someone else. That we can do things … casual." No!

"I see", she nodded slightly, but her eyes stayed on him. "Anything else?"

"I'm a moron", he answered. "I thought I could handle this by myself. That this isn't as bad. I should've known better." The things he should. "It's just Ryan and he's married. Ain't like it'll get serious between us or anything. That this'll keep things kinda in the family, you know, until we fixed me cheating at least. But …" He rubbed over his face in a frustrated gesture. Why was he the worst? Why were things so hard? "Ugh, I'm such a cunt. Nicolas cancelled our date last week - understandable. He's probably done with me now anyway and just too nice to say anything this close to Christmas or something. I don't know. Anyway, he cancelled. And what do I do? I ask Ryan if he got time to go out. After all, I had a clear schedule for a Friday night, what else could I be doing? I should know better by now. In the end, Ryan had no time either, his wife needed some attention or whatever." He made a dismissive hand gesture. "I went out anyway. I still have the app on my phone, so, that's how I spent the night. In a motel with some guy." He looked up at her, expecting to be reprimanded harshly. Somebody had to yell at him for this. Why wasn’t Nicolas?

"That is a lot to take in", she said. "Is there more?"

"Ain't that enough?", he snapped at her. "You need to fix me. Now! This can't go on." In all probability, Nicolas was counting the days to their breakup. Only a week left to Christmas, Marshall's time was running out. If he wasn't fixed until then, Nicolas would surely break it off afterward. Maybe he had until early January to convince him otherwise, but Marshall wasn't counting on that.

For a moment, she was silent. Her eyes stayed on him, examining him and surely finding all his flaws immediately. Could she help him? Finally she said: "I'm sorry, but this will take time, Marshall."

He groaned deeply, growing more frustrated. "I know, I know. Habits don't change in a day, you said that already." _You don't wanna change, bitch. You're living your best life. Honestly, can you see yourself at a candle light dinner or holding hands while walking outside or dumb shit like that? Who does that?_

"Not only that", she said and hesitated for a moment with her next words, "It might be, that this isn't just a habit. It's important to be sure, what's going on before we decide on a treatment. Otherwise we might do more harm than good."

With a frown he looked at her. "What you mean? I'm not a sex addict", he growled. This was ridiculous. There was no such thing and even if, he was addicted to drugs not sex. He would know. "Right?" He could've stayed home last weekend, but he hadn't. Why not? Because he needed to get his fix? With a random person and with sex that had been just good enough.

She shook her head. "I'm not suggesting any such thing. Right now, I'm not suggesting nor diagnosing anything. Which is exactly my point: If this is more than a persistent but ultimately meaningless habit, that has to be considered carefully. This story, especially from last weekend when Nicolas and Ryan cancelled but you still went out and apparently with the goal of sex in mind, that could be a hint. Equally so the fact that you seduced Ryan on purpose. There's an element of premeditation in this, that's usually not found in habits. Habits are more routinely, more subconsciously in nature. This story sounds different."

"Then, what is this?", he asked still frowning. Was he even more broken than he thought? Not much of a surprise.

"I don't know, yet", she said and stood up from her chair. She went to her shelf and looked at the rows of book spines. "I'm not an expert in these kinds of things." With a reassuring smile she looked back at him. "I would understand if you rather go to one. There are therapists who specialize on matters regarding sexual behavior. It is a delicate subject after all."

"Hrm", he grumbled and shook his head. Her he liked, her he trusted. "If it's all the same to you, I rather stay."

Accepting, she nodded. "Good. Then, I will need to read faster", still the reassuring smile on her face. One of the books she took from the shelf and came back to her chair. As she sat down, she turned the pages of the book, probably in search of something. It looked a little like one of Hailie's school books, with highlights and sticky notes everywhere. "First of all, sex addiction is not an official diagnosis. It's hard to study, as you can imagine, and therefore there isn't a good list of criteria what constitutes this as a disorder or if it's just unusual but medically acceptable behavior or if it's a symptom to something else. There's a lot we don't know, yet."

Marshall had returned the small smile, now he tilted his head in question. "I thought, it was just a myth."

"Maybe, maybe not", she answered. "One of the problems about anything regarding sexual behavior and mental health in general is the question: What is a human expression and what is not? Just because something might be unusual or rare, doesn't mean automatically that it's bad. I mean, not as long ago as one hopes, homosexuality was considered a disorder, even though it's not. Whereas depression wasn't considered a mental disorder, but more of a character flaw and something a strong will could fix."

Marshall snorted with disdain. "Yeah, people still think that, don't they."

She looked up from her book and nodded. With a sympathetic voice she said: "Sadly, some do. All the more reason to be careful. As with anything regarding health, a wrong diagnosis can be just as harmful as no diagnosis. That's why I organized some literature on the matter", she patted the book.

"Really?", he asked surprised. "Why? When? What matter?" Didn't she just say, she wasn't an expert? Now she got books, only experts had books.

"You're obviously in distress, Marshall", she answered softly, "And I'm here to help you. My initial thought put more meaning into your homosexuality, but that seems to be more superficial after all. It's not an easy subject, but considering everything you went through in your life, you seem to handle it fairly well. There's still some anxiety there, but it's not a major cause for concern at the moment. The process of accepting yourself as gay seems to be going well. Correct me, if I'm wrong."

"Uhm", he didn't really know what to say. He shrugged. "Sounds good?" Then he nodded in agreement. "I think it works? I mean, I sometimes feel like it's all going to shit and I'ma lose everything, but … Despite that, I feel better this way. It feels right. Does that make sense? I just, I don't want to go back and hide myself again, like from myself at least." His friends knew and the world was still standing, that gave hope. More so, it actually felt good this way.

She nodded with a smile. "That's good to hear. It's alright if things sometimes scare you, that is understandable and to a degree normal. No need to worry, keep moving forward with it."

"What's that about?", he asked and pointed to the book.

"It's a collection of articles", she explained. "Promiscuity and its relatives are, as I said, hard to study but it is being studied. These are some articles around these things."

He frowned thinking. "So … You do think, that that's what's going on? That it's just more addiction?"

"Like I said", she shook her head, "I'm not diagnosing you, yet. I'm also not convinced, if labeling anything in this regard as an addiction is helpful. But, that's more a question of principle and not really of concern to us." She turned a few more pages. "What is of concern to us, is whether your behavior is sexual in nature or not and if it's a symptom or stands alone." She looked up again. "I think, that it is in fact a problem for you, is fairly well established at this point."

He made an agreeing sound. "Definitely a problem. Killed my marriage, twice - not that that was salvageable, but still. Probably gonna kill my friendship with Ryan again. And Nicolas, well, he's as good as gone. So, yeah, I'm a problem."

"You're not a problem, Marshall", she said softly but sternly. "You may do things that cause problems. There's a difference."

"Not that I can see."

She looked at him for a moment before she asked: "What do you see?"

Marshall shrugged. "Right now? A person who's out of control. Whatever I do, I just end up hurting everyone. Not just Nicolas or Ryan, but I also dragged my daughters into this … That's just wrong, plain wrong."

"How so?", she asked. "From what I know, you don't bring your dates home with you, correct?"

"I don't", he confirmed, "But I … Uhm, the night with Ryan got pretty wild and when I got home I was really fried. And the girls had stayed up all night, cause I hadn't called home and they were worried, of course. I ended up worrying them even more, I was so fucking done that night … It was just bad all around."

She frowned. "That doesn't really sound like you. Can you give me more details?"

"Do I have to?", Marshall asked hesitant. "I mean, it's my sex life, that's rather personal and all." He wasn't thrilled to go deeper into his depravities. Who wanted to recount a night like that? He hadn't exactly covered himself with glory there.

"Certainly it's personal, that can be especially hard to talk about. Anything regarding sex even more so, since it often feels embarrassing. But I'm afraid, we'll have to bear that for the time being. I can't help you, if I don't know what's going on", she explained sympathetically. "From everything we talked about so far, regarding Kim and you cheating on her and Nicolas and everything, I get the distinct impression, that the crux of the matter lies in the details." She closed the book again and was silent for a moment. Her expression was thoughtful as if she was considering her options. "For example, a while ago I noticed something about how you phrase your unfaithfulness and how you frame your regret about it. It's those small things, that eventually will lead to a complete picture of the situation and an effective treatment."

He tilted his head curiously. "What did you notice? I phrase things in here just like always, I don't say anything special."

"I'm aware. That's why it's an important detail, because it's indicative of how you think about all of this. What I mean is, you always say that you don't want to hurt anybody, be it Kim or Nicolas or whoever else is involved."

Slowly he nodded. "Yeah, so? I don't. Ain't that a good thing?"

She smiled mildly. "Of course it's a good principle. But what you don't say is, if you regret having sex with a stranger in and of itself, or not."

Marshall opened his mouth to respond, but his mind blanked on words. _Repeat after me: 'I love me some random dick to suck.' For what it's worth, you were a slut at birth. If the world had a dick, you'd fuck the Earth._

"Now, there can be many reasons to why this isn't a sentence you say, either in the positive or negative. Its absence alone is merely a hint. At the moment, it seems like what your actions do to others is more important to you, than what those same actions might do to yourself. Which is keeping with your general personality, so not a total surprise. Yet, it's a curious way of talking about infidelity."

Begrudgingly he said: "I hadn't noticed." Being intentional with his words was his job, now having to face that he didn't always do a good job with it - that stung his pride quite a bit.

"Think about it for a while", she suggested. "At one point, we will have to talk about this question. How you view and what you feel about sex with a stranger is probably an important piece to understand the situation. After all, it seems to be your modus operandi."

Marshall sighed. That was an accurate observation, what good would denying it do? "Aight, fine. I'll think about it."

"Very well, then", she thought for a moment, where to take their session next. She put the book on the table for the time being. "Let's go back to the cancelled dates. Had you and Nicolas any particular plans for the night? Or was it more to spend time with each other and see what happens?"

Marshall fidgeted with the zipper of his hoodie. "Uhm, actually, we wanted to go ice skating, so …"

"That sounds nice. Is that typical for you two?", she asked further.

"Hm", he weighed his head thinking. "We often go to a club. I don't know, it's hard to go on real dates in my position, there's always somebody somewhere who recognizes me … It's fine if my friends know, but I don't want to read it in a headline somewhere."

A thoughtful nod. "That’s understandable. But you seem to be spending time with each other regardless."

"We text a lot", he explained. "He's deaf, so that's the easiest anyway. Also, we both have demanding jobs, there ain't always time to see each other everyday or something like that."

"That isn't always necessary. It's important to spend enough time with each other, it's rather personal how much that exactly is." Then she asked: "Do you feel like you spend enough time with each other?"

He exhaled deeply. "Not always", he admitted. "Or more like, it sometimes feels like a waste, in a sense. Not to spend time with him, but how we spend it, you know." She encouraged him to go on. "I mean, I know it's better this way, right, to get to know each other, to do things more slowly and shit. It makes things feel more meaningful. But I don't really have the patience for this and in the end, it's futile anyway. This won't last. Ain't like we're in love or some shit, even though pretending it sometimes feels nice … I rather use our time to the fullest, to get the most out of the short time we have."

"How exactly would that look like?", she asked. "What would you rather do in contrast to what you two are actually doing?"

Marshall shrugged. "We'd probably spend all our dates in a motel room. He, uhm …", he cleared his throat. "He's a bit kinky and so far, we haven't done much in that regard. That seems like a waste, doesn't it."

"Do you share his kinks?", of course she had to ask that.

"I don't really care much, honestly", he admitted. "Sex is sex, there ain't much of a difference to me. But he certainly likes it a lot. He's a bit of a gloomy person usually, but when we did it a bit more kinky, he livened up markedly. So, yeah, that's good."

Another question from her: "Were you excited to go ice skating with him? Or would you have rather spend the time at a motel, maybe engaging in some kinky activities?"

"Oh, uhm …", that was a good question. "I'm always excited to see him", he confessed and rubbed his neck embarrassed. "I don't know, he's just that kind of person. But what I would've rather … I like spending time with him either way, and to go on a real date like that, that's a bit special. But that's just me, right, since I can't really have that. The things you can't have are always more special. For him it's just boring, I guess."

"Did he say anything to that effect?"

Marshall shook his head. "No, not yet. We have different interests, that clashes sometimes. But he said, he likes to spend time with me, without any sex and shit. So, whatever that's worth." Not much. At least his boyfriend should like to have sex with him. If he wasn’t good enough for that, what was he good for at all?

She raised her eyebrows curiously, he could see the twinkle of an idea in her eyes. What stupid thing had he said now? "Who's idea was it to go ice skating?"

"His." Again showing Nicolas's considered side, when he suggest they go to some secluded pond up north. Marshall had thought better than to ask, how Nicolas knew of a secret pond. If he knew it from work, Marshall shouldn't know.

"When he cancelled and you asked Ryan out, did you ask him to go ice skating with you instead?" Her eyes watched him closely.

He shook his head again. "No. I thought, we could go to a club or maybe watch a movie at his place or something. Probably ending up in bed in the end."

"Ending up in bed, was that a concrete plan of yours or more like speculation you wouldn't have minded becoming reality?"

Marshall weighed his head thinking. "Not sure. I expected it to happen. It used to happen all the time back in the day. I don't know, it's just … Spending time with Ryan is really easy and always fun. When we're in the studio together and just rap shit, it's a kinda awesome feeling how we push each other, you know. His lines are really clever and intricate, he's a great lyricist ... I don't know, when he's in the room, I kinda don't wanna be anywhere else."

A small, thoughtful hum came from her. "I see. Did I hear right, that the two of you had something similar in the past?"

"Yeah", Marshall nodded and his fingers played with each other out of nervousness. "Back when we first met, when things started to finally go places, we … had a thing. I don't really know what it was."

"Do you mind telling me about it?", she asked.

"There ain't much to tell, I think", he shrugged. What was there to tell? They had fucked for a while and then they hadn't anymore. "He was on stage and I heard him spit 'I'm iller than standing in front of a gorilla holding a banana'", Marshall chuckled quietly at the memory. "His delivery was on point, I loved it. His presence on stage is really awesome. And he already knew who I was. So, that's how we first met. A few weeks later we met again at a party, totally random, and we started talking and shit. And it just happened, we made out. I mean, in some dark corner somewhere, so nobody would see, obviously, but … I wouldn't have cared if anybody had seen. I'm sure, some people must've seen something at some point. That's kinda how it always went back then, whenever we would meet, we'd end up in a corner or somewhere and make out and shit. Wasn't like I could've invited him to my place, Kim and Hailie was there, right. And he had his fiancé and newborn son at his. So, we just met somewhere else. Mostly we met up to spit some bars or drink with friends and shit and after a while of hanging out like that it would just get unbearable to not do anything hot and dirty and we would find a place, right."

She nodded understanding. "That sounds very passionate. How did it end? I'm assuming, it ended at some point."

"It did, he broke it off. The whole thing went for months, close to a year maybe, not sure. He always had these moments, when he freaked out about us, you know. That he's fucking a guy, that sometimes he even rather fuck a guy than some easy chick from a bar or whatever. One day, totally out of the blue, he broke it off and said, he wasn't gay and wouldn't do this no more and shit. To be honest, I didn't buy that, still don't. I tried to be just friends with him afterward, but … I couldn't. It just, I don't know, his presence became too much in a way. And I was really angry at him for breaking it off, too, telling me bullshit like that. If he didn't think of me as hot enough anymore or whatever, he could've just said so. I understand that, no big deal. But lying to me? That I'm allergic to. And then, he and the others started their stupid beef and all that shit, so there was no point in trying to be only friends with him anymore." He hadn't thought they would become friends again, but luckily, they were. _You mean, luckily you two are fucking again._

"I see. Would you describe, what you two had, as being in love in some way? Or was it more physical attraction and sexual drive?", she asked.

Marshall shook his head. "Wouldn't call it love. We vibe well and all that and I like him as a person, too, but it wasn't love. It ain't love now, either. It's just … He's smoking hot and I like spending time with him, but ain't like I want to have a family with him or something like that."

"Are you in love with Nicolas?"

He swallowed hard. "It's too early for anything like that."

She tilted her head. "How long have you and Nicolas been going out for?"

"Sixty-nine days", he answered promptly.

"And how long would you need to go out with someone to say, if you're in love with that person or not?"

Marshall shrugged. "I don't know. A while?"

She looked at him silently.

"I mean, I like him. Ain't that enough?"

"It probably is", she agreed. "Back to the cancelled dates. What did you feel, when Ryan had to cancel as well?"

"Not much", he answered. "Ain't like he has to spend time with me or anything. After all, he has a wife and kids, he should spend time with them. … Hm, I was a bit pissed, though, admittedly. I mean, I had nothing to do for the night and the girls were taken care off and all, so I wasn't particularly excited to be bored out of my mind now that no one had time for me."

"Is that why you decided to go out by yourself and use the app?"

"Pretty much", Marshall nodded.

Then she asked the obvious question, he didn't really know the answer to: "But why use the app? Couldn't you have combated boredom with some other activity? Maybe call some of your other friends and watch a movie with them, without any sexual or romantic undertones. Did that cross your mind?"

"Not really, no", he shifted in his seat slightly. Why had he gone out that night? _To get laid, duh. This ain't rocket science, fag, your ass is needy as all hell and there's always a dick who'll take care of it._ "I didn't want to hear anyone else bail on me, two is enough for one night, don't you think?"

She nodded briefly. "I understand that. Let me ask you this then, did you go out for sex, because you were bored and wanted something more exciting to do? Or did you go out for sex, because you felt rejected and needed something to boost your mood with?"

He swallowed hard, somehow that sounded right. Too right. "Both?", he asked with a low croak in his voice. He had been right, he really didn't want to know why he did these things. Just more evidence of how broken he was.

"It's alright, Marshall. You don't have to feel bad in front of me, I'm not judging you", she assured him. Not that she needed to, he knew she was only doing her job asking all these questions.

"But I do", he said. "Those are both pretty shitty reasons to cheat on someone."

She weighed her head in answer. "Possibly true. But those reasons we can work on quite well and we will, I promise. However, I have one final question about that night. When you decided to go out by yourself and use the app, was there some kind of anticipation or some sort of desire for sex in your mind? Like, did the initial prospect of spending the night with Nicolas and Ryan spur something that lingered on? Or was there some other form of sexual tension in that moment you wanted to live out? Or was it more that the sensual nature of your plan was a kind of byproduct that just happened to be there?"

"Uhm … That's one hell of a question, Doc." He ran his fingers through his short hair. "I ain't sure." Marshall hesitated to speak further. How could he answer a question like this? How could anyone? Not every night started out lustful, didn't mean it wouldn't end there. What did it matter?

"Take your time", she suggested. "It's going to be a question we'll be coming back to again. If you don't find a satisfying answer for yourself now, we will try in later sessions again." An attempt to take off the pressure, he appreciated that.

"Uhm, with Nicolas", he started and began to think out loud, "With Nicolas I didn't expect anything sexy to happen, actually. He's … Like, he knows I cheated on him and all that and the last time we tried something, he stopped it midway. So, I don't think he's too keen on anything like that anymore. I mean, he said, he likes to spend time with me without any sex. So, that’s bad. And also, I don't always know how to get him in the mood and since I failed so miserably last time, I didn't expect this to go any better. Besides, I was still in bit of a bad shape and he really doesn't like it to see the evidence of somebody else on me. Which I understand, no question. I wouldn't like that, either, so …", he shrugged. He didn't really expect them to have any sex again before they broke up. Which was a damn shame, but probably served him right. What had Marshall to offer? Nothing. "And with Ryan, I expected things to happen. That's just what we do. I'm actually surprised we went with more than a year without falling into this thing again. I thought, he'd forgotten all about it or something, but he clearly, clearly hasn't. Still, I was nervous when I asked him out. Like I said, I wasn't up to snuff yet, from the last time with him. I really overdid it that night and I was sure, we would do something like that again, just … I wasn't sure, if I could pull myself together enough to not make things worse for my ass, you know. Just letting loose with him is so fucking tempting. But he couldn't, so that didn't matter anymore … With guys from the app it doesn't go that far. Yet, probably. Still feels like a new thing, right, like all of it. Going out to hook up with a guy, like for real and without remorse and all that, without the feeling that I'm wrong because of it. That it's actually okay to do that, to want that. Feels weird sometimes. Also using an app for that, like using my phone and to just show up somewhere and that's that. Technology, man, freakin' awesome. I so wish this had been a thing when I was a teen, would've made things so much easier. Like, going to a bar and flirt with somebody first, that's sometimes okay. It can be a fun game, but it's often too much work and not always with a pay-off. At least with chicks, that is. So, an app like that really is a blessing if you just wanna fuck a bit and not much else. And … Well, I didn't expect it to be mind blowing or anything. Like, I still try to get the hang of it, right. It takes some trial and error until you find out about all the signs and the lingo and shit, so that you pick a good one, that things go smoothly and all that. And since I wasn't going for something too wild, anyway", he shrugged slightly. "Just something nice and easy, that was my goal. I picked right, which is really cool. And, uhm … What was the question again?", he asked and rubbed his neck sheepish. "Sorry, I think I got distracted there for a minute."

She smiled amused and lenient. "It's alright, I think you answered it well."

"I did?" Felt more like he had rambled again without saying much of value.

"Yes, and - for better or for worse - your words affirm to a degree, that this is more complicated than I initially thought." She had an apologetic look in her eyes.

"Really?", he asked surprised. "Oh, right, I wanted to ask you something."

She straightened up a bit. "Of course, always. What's on your mind?"

"It's something Denaun said. He thought, that I cheated on Kim all the time because I didn't really want to be with her, or with any girl for that matter", he explained. "And that I sabotaged myself kinda on purpose there. Could that be a thing?"

"Well, what do you think?", she asked back.

Marshall shrugged. "I don't know. It makes sense, kinda, doesn't it? I didn't really like her like that or wanted to have sex with her anyway, so cheating on her to get her off my back … I can see that. But I still cheated on her with other girls, mostly. I mean, I didn't always want to be with them, either. So, I don't know. What's your expert opinion on that?"

"My expert opinion?", she asked amused, then she weighed her head for a moment to buy time and think her words through first. "Similar thoughts did occur to me as well, next to other possibilities. And knowing that you had some … let's call it _entanglement_ regarding your first time, there seems to be some truth to this. The question, of course, is, how much of your behavior was influenced by you suppressing your homosexuality? Was it just that one time because it was special, or did it might have a greater impact on how responsible you felt toward your relationship with Kim? That is hard to tell at the moment. It could also be less about sabotaging your relationship, so you wouldn't have to be with a girl, but that you perhaps tried to overcompensate. Maybe feeling a lack of attraction towards women could've sparked the need to seek them out more in an attempt to find it somewhere, somehow."

"Oh, yeah, that also makes sense", Marshall agreed. "FYI, never really found it."

She weighed her head briefly, thinking. "Also, maybe it could have been an attempt to prove that you would like women after all and that you fitted in with your friends. There can be a lot of social and cultural pressure on young men in that regard. Like I said, there are quite a number of possibilities to why you have a habit of cheating, or perhaps more accurately put, why you have a comparatively strong trait of promiscuity. Chances are, it could be a rather complex mixture and maybe some of it has to do with you suppressing your sexuality, but not necessarily all of it. Whatever influence it had, how you treated being gay, can't be all the explanation. From what you told me, at the moment you only have sex with men, correct?" He nodded in answer. "So it follows, any need to sabotage a relationship or to overcompensate for lack of attraction, both of those things don't apply anymore. If those things had an influence on your behavior, they should be considerably weakened now that you go out with the kind of people you actually like. What could remain are, of course, behavioral patterns, the habits I thought you had developed. Sometimes a behavior becomes so ingrained in us, that the underlying cause doesn't have much sway anymore. Habits are, after all, very powerful. But the more you tell me about how you engage with your sexuality, there seems to be something else going on."

Marshall frowned. "Why? Did I say something wrong or what?"

"No", she shook her head. "It's not about right or wrong. At the moment I'm only concerned about what you actually do and how things connect. If those actions are right or wrong, we will determine later, together."

He still frowned at her.

A reassuring smile. "Just a moment ago, you told me about how you use the app on your phone. It sounded, as if you were rather pleased that the man you picked turned out the way you wanted it."

"Well, yeah, of course", Marshall nodded. "I was right, after all. Like, you ain't always in the mood for all of the things, so you need to know how to pick the right guy. I finally get the hang of it, that's really cool."

"I understand that, doing something new and getting good at it, that's a good feeling and we want to be proud of ourselves then." She quietly watched him for a moment. "However, it makes it sound, as if using the app and everything it entails is like some sort of hobby for you. That might or might not be true, but it's the impression your words leave with me."

"A hobby?", he asked confused and surprised. "Can you even call that a hobby? Ain't like hooking up with people is the same thing as drawing or playing basketball or whatever."

She patted the book on the table briefly. "That's what we will have to find out. If it can be similar and if you really treat it similar or not. Just from one instance we can't make a jump like that, we will need to dig deeper into this."

Marshall sighed deeply. "Sounds complicated."

"I'm afraid, it probably is", she agreed.

"So, no quick fix, huh?"

She just shook her head.

"And what do I do now?", he asked. "With Nicolas, I mean." He already lived on borrowed time in their relationship, but it sure wouldn't last as long as however long they would need to fix him. Not when it was this complicated.

"Well, you have a couple of options", she answered. "I recommend talking with him about this. You said, he already knows that you cheated on him, yet he didn't leave you right away. Which tells me, he probably likes you quite a bit and also that his views on faithfulness perhaps aren't too stringent. He might be able to give you a little leeway on the matter until we figured things out."

Marshall crinkled his nose. "That sounds like a nasty conversation to have."

"Also like one, you possibly ought to have."

Another sigh. She was probably right. "Can you recommend something else?"

"Hm", she made a thoughtful humming noise for a moment. "If you can find it in you to curb yourself a bit and not use the app for the time being, that might help. Perhaps, having two partners can satisfy you enough for now? Like, it often is easier for a partner to forgive one affair instead of a string of affairs. You said, Nicolas kind of expects you to have affairs, maybe any effort to have the number as small as is possible for you at the moment, can work in your favor when this becomes more of a problem between the two of you."

"I probably should try that at least." Not cheating on Nicolas couldn't be so impossible. It shouldn't be. _You're perfect as a side bitch, but not much else. No reason to cry about it, just go with the flow._

"You know", she started, "People who indulge in kinks of some variety are often more open to these things and about talking about it. It's essential to talk about sex and the surrounding areas, if a kink is to be explored safely and satisfactory. If Nicolas has some experience in this field, as you alluded to, you can probably talk with him about this quite easily, compared to more vanilla people."

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. "He already tried", he admitted.

"Really?", she asked with mild surprise. "How did it go?"

"Bad."

"Bad how?"

He sighed again and shrugged. "I don't know, just bad. Just because he tries, ain't meaning that he's good at it, you know."

She tilted her head. "Did you try to engage in that conversation or did you try to block it?"

An annoyed groan. Why did she always know what to ask? "More of the latter, I guess."

A short nod. "Okay, then I have two pieces of homework for you", she announced energetically. "First, I want you to think about how you feel about sex with strangers, in all the possible ways that can have an impact on you. It's a rather broad question, I know. Maybe focus if there's a difference between the stages like before, during and after, or maybe if your views shift depending whether or not you're in a relationship, or maybe if there's a difference whether you found the stranger in question via an app or by flirting at a bar or by hiring them, or maybe you think about this differently now than you did ten or twenty years ago. Or whatever else comes to mind." She looked at him with mild question, checking if the task was clear.

Marshall nodded. "Aight, got it. And the second?"

"Try, if you can talk with Nicolas about this."


	44. Gangsta. #03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall and Nicolas have a date at the movies.

The door was heavy and thick, slowly falling to a close. In front of him opened the side of a great hall, soft carpet covered the floor and the fashionable lights decorating the ceiling had a sparkling quality to them. You expected a mass of glamorously clothed people from a forgotten era to populate the old theater. But nobody was here, and Nicolas felt like he was doing something wrong. Not a feeling he often experienced, neither one he particularly missed. Clearly, this was a building for people with a wealth of money or academic degrees to legitimate their own superiority. Nicolas couldn't be more the opposite if he tried.

Despite this feeling, he left the side entrance behind and walked into the empty theater, striding through the grand hall. Places, that you only visited with numerous people always felt eery when you were the only person there. Like it was the apocalypse and you were the only one to survive, a scenario Nicolas liked. People were only an annoyance.

But he wasn't completely alone, his steps followed Marshall to the counter. He was definitely a person, who had the money to fit into this opulence of the past, yet he looked as much as a fish out of water as Nicolas felt. Instead of a glamorous suit, he wore dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a lightly patterned hoodie. Without a doubt he looked good, but rather modest. Except for his bright red shoes.Already Nicolas had noticed that Marshall only wore Nike sneakers. A normal enough choice, not cheap per se but also not outlandish by any stretch. Slightly excessive might be his habit to not wear a pair twice.

The one employee working at the moment went behind the counter and looked at them, her expression a mix between bewilderment and nervousness, a struggle for countenance. She asked: "Can I get you anything, Sir? We have some good offers …" and she proceeded to list whatever it was they served here. Nicolas didn't care. He rather watched Marshall, how the man's lucent blue eyes flickered across the menu, searching, trying to decide. Finally, he settled on: "Coke and popcorn, please." He turned to Nicolas and asked: >What do you want? Popcorn, too? We can get a big one.<

Nicolas couldn't help but to smirk about the toned down order. Marshall rented out a whole movie theater, so they could have a cheesy date undisturbed, but just a bit of popcorn was enough. Extravagance looked different. >Water's fine<, he answered.

>Are you sure?<, Marshall asked and after an answering nod he translated into spoken language. The gold of his necklace stood out from his black attire. The only thing that almost showed off that he owned a fortune was the jewelry he wore. Always a necklace, a bracelet and a watch. Mostly silver, sometimes gold and occasionally decorated with diamonds. This seemed expensive on paper, but the styles were rarely flashy. As far as jewelry went, this was mild and white diamonds were quite boring compared to other gems. A lesson Big Mama had taught him. The old brothel Queen had a distaste for the artificial nature of the diamond market, but a love for jewelry and finery. A fact, no one around her could escape.

While the employe prepared their order, Marshall kneaded his light pink lips, one of his many cute habits. Oddly enough, he didn't like to be called cute or be described in typical feminine terms; unless the rare times he definitely wanted it. It was a thin line, but sharp if you overstepped it. The anger, the man could explode in sometimes, still surprised Nicolas, but he couldn't always hold is tongue. Being flustered was a good look on the man and, honestly, Nicolas wanted all facets of him to shine. Telling him, what an adorable being he was, hopefully polished him to high luster.

Soon, their order was ready. Nicolas carried their drinks and Marshall took the bucket of popcorn as they walked into the theater that was prepared for them. Since no one else was here, they had free choice where to sit and Nicolas gestured toward the middle of the room. Wasn't that a good place to sit? He thought so.

Marshall shook his head. As always, he had his own opinions on the matter and insisted on it. By sight he measured out the size of the screen and the size of the room, slowly climbing the stairs to get a better vantage point for his estimates. It was practically visible how his brain worked on the math to triangulate the best solution to this problem. His lips moved slightly: "And the loudspeakers are…", looking to the corners of the room, but in the dim light he wouldn't see much.

Suffice it to say, Nicolas was highly amused to watch Marshall and his struggles to find the perfect seat. The man had a very strict sense of how he wanted things to be and this extended to something so trivial as a seat at the movies. Pure droll.

Then, Marshall missed a step on the stairs, stumbled and fell to the floor. The popcorn flew into the air and rained down on them. "Aw man", Marshall whined, white specks all over his clothes.

Nicolas laughed, of course he did. >That's what you get for being picky<, he signed with one hand, the other one still held their drinks.

"But …", started Marshall to defend himself, helplessly gesturing between the seats and the popcorn and the stairs.

Extending his hand, he helped Marshall up from the floor. He handed him the drinks. >I get you more popcorn. You find us a seat, okay? And don't spill these, too.<

"Okay", Marshall agreed a bit grumpy.

Nicolas picked a piece of popcorn from Marshall's head before he left. Looking around for the employee, she wasn't anywhere nearby. Was she in the projection room? Would make sense. Was it worth running around in this huge building for? The question, why Marshall picked from all places this old, decorated theater, he couldn't answer. The man wasn't interested in architecture or wanted them to dress up fancy for their date and since he rented the whole thing out, the annoying problem, if the right movie was shown at the right time, was made irrelevant.

Shrugging to himself, Nicolas went to the counter and, since the employee wasn't here, just served himself. It didn't take long for him to shovel all the popcorn into a new bucket. Was Marshall really to eat all of this? With the snack ready, he went back again and entered their screen room. Just this moment, Marshall stood up from the seat he had taken, only to sit down again two seats over.

Nicolas briefly shook his head watching this, but the smirk on his lips stayed. He climbed up the rows and came to stand next to Marshall. >Is this seat taken?<

>No, of course not<, Marshall answered with a tight smile.

Sitting down beside him, Nicolas gave over the popcorn. >I half expected we had to sit on the floor. Or maybe look for a new movie theater.<

>I'm not that bad.< Marshall was still grumpy and pressed his lips hard against one another. Was he embarrassed? Not necessary, but adorable. >It's important to have a good view.<

>So, this is a good view?< Nicolas's eyes scanned across the curtains that hid the screen. Was there much of a difference where you sat? The screen was huge, it was visible from all angles this room could possibly have.

Marshall nodded and started signing his answer, but halted a few gestures in. Then he sighed and just repeated: >It's a good view.< It really was endearing, how Marshall wanted to use as much sign language as possible, but for now it still put him under limitations. For someone, who manipulated language with a passion, this must be really frustrating.

So to distract him, Nicolas asked: >What movie are we watching anyway?< Not that it mattered, not to Nicolas at least. He wasn't here to watch a movie, that only was a side effect, but to spend time with the man sitting next to him. Surprisingly, he liked this quite a bit. Marshall was an unusual and captivating person and spending more time with each other than just sex was nice. There weren't many people in the city Nicolas actually wanted to spend time with, even though he knew a fair number by name. He rather spent his time with his sword or in a book.

Marshall looked shortly confused. >T r o n L e g a c y<, he finger spelled. >I told you. It's new and I'm really ... curious about it.<

Whatever movie that was. Nicolas suspected a certain amount of action, only because Marshall wanted to watch it and he didn't seem like a person who liked psychological dramas or historical tragedies all that much. Possibly, he had enough drama and tragedy in his life, dealing with his irritating ex-wife for example. From Marshall's songs, which he was slowly working through, she didn't seem to have a single good quality. She should feel lucky Nicolas was forbidden to take her out. >What kind of movie is that?<

>Didn't you get my email?<, Marshall asked, >I sent you the details.<

Nicolas shrugged. Email wasn't something he regularly used, didn't have his own address anyway. Who would write him? People only contacted him for a job and Worick dealt with those inquiries. And Alex now. He wasn't sure, they needed her as their secretary. Hadn't they gotten by alone just fine? No reason to change. This wasn’t why he asked her as their prize.

Marshall sat up and explained: >It's Sci-Fi and … there's an old movie called T r o n, they go together. I like that one much.<

>You like Sci-Fi movies?<, he asked. Not the genre he would've guessed first.

>Not the hard ones, more like … S t a r W a r s. Do you like it?<

Nicolas weighed his head for a moment. >Can be fun. Star Wars, I don't know, never watched it.<

>What?< Shocked Marshall's eyes grew big. >You never watched Star Wars? How? Why? Seriously? We have to do that. You have to be joking!<

From his reaction, this must be a grave omission in life. Who knew. >Didn't cross my path.< Weren't there numerous movies? Only thing he knew, except for the obvious cultural reference points, was how people argued which one of them was worse. That didn't seem enticing.

>But you've heard of Star Wars before, right? You have to have heard of it.< This simple fact was seemingly hard for Marshall to process.

>Of course I know about it. Everyone with half a sense working knows about it.< Was there anyone in this country, who didn't know of this franchise? Nicolas couldn't imagine such a thing. Still didn't mean, it crossed his path in a meaningful way.

Marshall dug out a piece of crumbled paper and a pen from his jeans pocket and scribbled something down. >We'll do a … m a r a t h o n<, he announced.

They would? Hopefully at home, that was more relaxing and also, if the movie was boring they could do something else instead. Nicolas liked TV shows slightly more than movies. You could watch them casually and if you missed a piece, nothing lost to the story, which usually was plain and formulaic anyway. The perfect thing to kill time with.

>What else haven't you seen?<, Marshall asked.

Nicolas shrugged. >How would I know? It'd be easier to think, I haven't seen anything. I don't normally go to the movies.<

Marshall nodded, his lips lightly moving as if he spoke. It wasn't distinct enough for Nicolas to read most of the time and he assumed, he shouldn't. In all likelihood, this was Marshall mumbling to himself. But rarely he could make out a word or two, some of Marshall's favorites were fuck (no surprise), slut (weird at first), dick (self-explanatory), gay (accurate) and my girls (his daughters, presumably). It was mean to judge this, but his mind had a narrow view on things. Although, Nicolas's probably wasn't broad either, just different.

The dim light went dark completely and the curtains drew open from the screen. Marshall tapped Nicolas's arm delighted that the movie finally began.

It had captions, was the first thing Nicolas noticed. The screen was a black and white mass of lines, with captions underneath narrating the core principle of the movie. Absolutely Marshall's work. The man tried so hard to respect his deafness, more so than other people Nicolas knew. Or more accurately, besides Worick and Nina no one bothered beyond a certain point. Alex was learning a few words, but she always spoke while she signed, making it more clear she was only transliterating. Veronica had tried slightly harder, but she had been a proud and stubborn person, too much to bear the trial and error that was communicating in a different language. She couldn't handle mistakes well. Inspector Chad understood sign language well enough, but never signed himself. Everyone else he knew made less of an effort or none at all. As annoying as this was, he didn't begrudge this fact. Wasn't like he cared to communicate with people most of the time. But Marshall's strive to learn and be considerate, it was so obvious and nice and … He treated Nicolas like a person, something he wasn't used to.

The movie flickered across the screen, a motorcycle rushed through the streets. That was cool. But more than watching the movie, Nicolas couldn't keep his eyes from Marshall for too long. The glimmer of the movie lit up his face. He was gorgeous in the shifting lights, the shadows and highlights sharply accentuated the lines of his face. As the plot of the movie entered the digital world, a bright grin opened up the mask on Marshall's face, that he worked so hard to hide behind. Not anymore. Excitement shone from him and reminded Nicolas of a kid. Marshall could become so enthused with a thing, usually music, that this childlike quality of him bubbled to the surface. An honest expression that he enjoyed life. Nicolas found this refreshing and, admittedly, a little contagious.

He leaned over and kissed Marshall's cheek. Not to interrupt the man's watch of the movie, but he couldn't hold back his affections. It was hard to let the man know that he liked him, but Nicolas tried. More so, it was hard to accept that he sincerely liked this man. What would this mean? But in moments like this, denial was too hard.

Surprised, Marshall looked to him, a hesitant smile on his lips. Silently he offered his popcorn and Nicolas accepted. >Do you have fun?<, Marshall asked.

As an answer, Nicolas nodded briefly and kissed him again, this time on the lips. Only a soft touch and he felt a tremble in his body, he had no name for.

After their lips parted, Marshall bit his as is he so often did. A gesture infused with hesitance and bashfulness and the man steered his eyes back on the screen. But the pure enjoyment of the movie was clouded by a frown on his face. Was Marshall getting lost in his thoughts again? He shouldn't, not now when he so clearly wanted to watch this movie and for their date to go well. As wanted Nicolas. He reached out to take the other's hand in his, a soft, reassuring squeeze. Everything was alright.

Marshall's hand answered with a squeeze of its own, but he could feel a slight quiver. Nervousness? As Marshall continued to bite his lips, the pressure of his fingers increased slowly but steadily. Fear? Watching the beautiful face from the side, Nicolas noticed how Marshall's line of sight shifted downward, away from the movie. He clearly lost himself in his thoughts again. What was so important and consuming?

The movie played along and involved more motorcycles. Their design was sleek and minimal, this movie's visuals were on point and Nicolas grew impressed. The race could've been fun to watch, if the continuing pressure of Marshall's grip around his hand wouldn't worry him. A frown furrowed deeply the man's forehead. How could Nicolas make him enjoy the movie again?

But before he could decide on a plan, Marshall's hand withdrew from his. He looked at the man with a question. What now? Was holding hands wrong for them? Not casual enough? Too cheesy? Fuck, now he was thinking too much himself. Suddenly, he had Marshall's lips on his. An impulsive kiss. In a matter of seconds, Marshall's hands were all over him and rushing under his sweater. One moment and the air around them was charged, tension dialed up. Fingers moving across his skin, stroking him, holding on to him. Erratic. But Nicolas wasn't here to complain, instead he kissed back. Kissing Marshall was passionate and consuming, right now the other was bold und pushing forward. Their lips on each other needed to touch and their tongues entangled one another, their breaths becoming one. It was a feeling to get lost in.

But something held him back, Nicolas didn't know what. He parted from Marshall's lips and their eyes met. The blue was barely visible in the dim light, but Marshall's eyes jittered in their sockets. Excitement? Angst? He licked over his lips, seductive and tempting. Then he licked over Nicolas's lips, even more so. Another kiss, just as feverish as the one before.

Marshall's hands slid down and opened Nicolas's pants, massaging his member. The fingers wrapped expertly around it, stroking, kneading. The grip was intense. Something was off. Their lips parted again and for a short moment, they shared another look. Marshall's eyes still couldn't keep still, anxiously flickering across Nicolas's face and his mouth did these small, mumbling movements again: "… suck your dick … don't break …"

Nicolas knew what this was.

But before he could react, Marshall already bend down over his lap and his tongue licked along the member, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking it. It was hard to believe the man had been in the closet all his life, for how well he handled another man's junk. Nevertheless, this wasn't what tonight was for. At least, not like this.

With a soft pull at Marshall's shoulder, he forced the man up again and pushed him into his seat. >Watch the movie<, he signed. Marshall had been looking forward to their movie date so much, as if he actually liked the corniness inherent in it. Going to the movies was a boring, uninspired way to spend a date, especially as adults when there were so many more interesting things to do, yet Marshall had been absolutely excited about this, as if this was the most special thing. So, he should enjoy it, including the movie.

Marshall's hand reached out again, an urgency in his movements to lay his fingers around the exposed organ again. But Nicolas held it off, their hands locked in a silent fight. Sex was strangely necessary for him. Nicolas had seen this before, seen women so damaged by their pimp they had no other reactions to the world left anymore but this. So eager to please a man they once loved, they'd do anything, including destroying themselves. Alex was one of those and even though the drugs slowly left her system, the damage stayed. Or others had become so jaded, that the only thing they still believed to be real was sex, sometimes worse, the only thing they believed to be good for was sex. Looking into Marshall's confused and hurt eyes made his stomach constrict. Where was the bottom of this never ending well of sad stories?

He kissed Marshall softly. >Watch the movie<, he repeated.

"But-", Marshall started to talk back, but bit back his tongue hard. The expression on his face grew sad. >I'm sorry.<

Tenderly he caressed Marshall's cheek and kissed him on the lips again, briefly. >Enjoy the movie.< And their date. This was what they were here for. If Marshall needed some explicit sign they were alright, Nicolas could make it happen. Thus, he bend down over Marshall's lap and, just as easily as the other had before, Nicolas opened the jeans and returned the favor. But with interests.

Marshall ran his fingers through Nicolas's hair, the movement agitated and twitchy. A slight pull at the strands and Nicolas looked up. "You don't need to." Lips still bitten, tears glinted, a frown.

"I want to", Nicolas replied. Perhaps, Marshall would believe his voice better.

A brief shake of his head. "No one does."

"Enjoy it. Can you do that?" Why was it so hard to give the man a little bit of pleasure? A little peace of mind.

An even briefer nod. Insecurity obvious.

Nicolas turned his attention back to Marshall's lap. The member stood hard and ready to resume their play. His tongue obliged, teasing it a little before he took it into his mouth again. Once again, Marshall's fingers ran through his hair, never still. Nicolas intensified his efforts, varying the pressure, bobbing his head in a nice rhythm, using his tongue to tempt the head. This should be something, Marshall remembered for a while. Seemed, like he hadn't many memories like this.

The fingers grabbed the strands of his hair harder, growing less nervous and more captivated by the minute. Marshall let himself fall into this moment and in turn Nicolas felt a warm beam of delight in his chest.

Eventually, this moment drew to an end and the orgasm rolled over Marshall.

The faint sweetness of it hit Nicolas with surprise. Curious, was this the first time he tasted Marshall's? But this wasn't the first time he had gone down on him. Something was definitely off with this man. For now, he closed the pants again and sat back up. A glance at Marshall, who leaned back in his chair seemingly relaxed, the expression on his face content and with a hint of confidence. At least it had worked.

Nicolas put his own pants back in order as well. When he looked up, the movie was at an empty bar and the characters exchanged underhanded threats. He probably had missed something important, but Nicolas didn't care. Rather, he interlaced his fingers with Marshall's again.

Who looked over to him, a genuine smile on his lips. Not biting, not kneading, only smiling. As if an indomitable tension had finally left his body and mind. Marshall raised their hands for a moment and put a kiss on the back of Nicolas's.

The movie followed a train, that looked more like an art piece than anything transporting goods. Each character had a disc on their back that included all the information about them and now was used to heal someone wounded. Out of reflex Nicolas grabbed his dog tags for a second, until he grew aware of how silly this was. There on the screen, it was just a movie. Besides, his dog tags couldn't heal and even if, they wouldn't be used this way.

Marshall shared more popcorn with him and the childlike excitement came back, when the chase took up heat, guns blazing, planes crashing into each other and swirling vertical into the air. The big showdown was coming near and Marshall slid to the edge of his seat, enthralled in the pictures flickering across the screen. Would they make it in time? He mumbled to himself again, possibly cheering the characters on.

By now, Nicolas had totally given up on following the movie, he just watched Marshall and how the man immersed himself in the story. It must be nice to give oneself completely over to a fantasy, to forget the troubles of real life for the time being. Although Nicolas read a lot, he didn't lose himself in the text nor did he empathize with the characters. He didn't know how to do that. Marshall made it look easy.

The light in the theater turned on again. The movie was over.

>This was great!<, Marshall signed and his face was still alight with enjoyment.

Nicolas nodded and stretched his back. >The bikes were cool.< That was about the only thing he hadn't missed.

>So cool. Like on the … G r i d, those bikes were amazing. The look, so cool.< Marshall leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen, where the end credits rolled along. >Not just the look. The … message is great, too.<

>Message?<, Nicolas asked. That's probably the part he missed. An action movie didn't need a message, not with a chase scene this fine.

>Yeah, about perfection and not-perfection<, Marshall tried to explain with the signs he knew. >That you think, perfection is the greatest but in the end not being perfect is … h u m a n and that's the better quality.<

Deep, who would've thought from a movie about futuristic bikes. >Sounds like a good insight into life.< There was nothing more boring than perfect. >I read somewhere: Beauty and ingenuity beat perfection hands down, every time. I go with that.<

Marshall nodded thoughtfully, thinking about this for a long moment. >I can see what they mean. I try to get my music perfect, you know, like for it to be the best, to be how I need it to be. But in the end, I have to take what I can do in that moment in time.<

>Makes sense. You don't only do that with your music, right.< When someone needed like fifteen minutes to find a seat in an empty theater, then there was something else going on. >You're particular with a lot of stuff.<

Marshall bit his lips. >I'm … It drives me crazy when things don't go how I think they should go. I can't get it out of my head. It's a bit overwhelming sometimes, if I can't shut my head up somehow.<

Were those the thoughts he so often dove deeply into? >Sounds hard.<

>Don't worry, I can handle it. That's one of the things therapy is for, you know.< The smile on his lips was honest and that was real comfort. >There are things that help and are not drugs. Like boxing. So, it's alright.<

Nicolas nodded understanding. >Training gets you out of your head, that's true.< He liked that himself. In a fight, there wasn't room for your own thoughts and problems. You didn't matter, only the next hit was important.

>What did you like about the movie?<, Marshall asked.

>The bikes and the race<, Nicolas answered promptly. What else hadn't he missed? >The chase with the planes was cool, too.<

Marshall smirked. >You like action, hm?<

Nicolas shrugged briefly. >I don't say no to a good fight.<

>That I believe in a heartbeat.< Marshall gathered their few pieces of garbage together and took it with him out of the room.

The employee stood at the door. "Was everything like you asked for, Sir?" Every syllable she said put one more piece of Marshall's mask back on until the pleasure of the movie was dulled down into a gray mass of indifference.

"Yes, thank you", answered Marshall curtly.

As they walked to the side entrance, Nicolas asked: >What now? We still got time.< It would be a shame, if they’re date ended now. They hadn't done anything together. This was, why movie dates hardly worked: It didn’t give you time with the other person, just a subject for a future conversation. In his view, an amicable silence was equally pleasurable.

Marshall shrugged. >I don't know. Any ideas?<

Nicolas nodded. Yeah, he had an idea or two.

* * *

>Park here<, Nicolas instructed.

The car drove onto a lonely parking lot. The space of gray stones was small, roughly enough for a dozen cars to park and between it and the horizon was nothing but street and empty land, the city only a mirage in the distance. An iron fence stood between this pitiful outcrop of civilization and the dark forest of fir trees, which stretched out in front of them. Snow covered the tips of their branches.

>Where is this?<, Marshall asked. >What is this?<

Nicolas left the car. The sun slowly began to set and painted the sky in stark blue and bright orange. No clouds hindered the colors to spread wide, the sky as clear as the air. A beautiful sight. With a short gesture, he asked Marshall to follow him. He approached the fence and signed: >We go over here.<

>Over?<, Marshall asked, but followed.

The fence was about six feet high. >You manage by yourself or you need my help?<, Nicolas asked.

Marshall huffed and stepped next to the fence. >I can do this myself.<

An inviting gesture. >After you, ice princess.<

>Shut up.< Marshall grabbed the iron bars, pulled himself up at them and climbed over the fence. Not graceful, but functional.

For a moment, Nicolas had the perfect view of Marshall's ass. His pants always hung too low, but Nicolas liked it this way. Made it easier to tease the man with a nicely placed pinch. Who could resist that?

Which he did right now.

A tremor went through Marshall's body and he almost fell down from the fence. "Hey!" He turned to him and shot him an icy glare.

Nicolas just grinned.

When Marshall came down the other side, he showed a sassy grin. "See, easy peasy."

Nicolas smirked slightly. Then he grabbed the iron bars himself and without any effort jumped over the low fence. >Good, then let's go.<

Marshall shook his head surprised. >How do you do that? The jumping.<

>Training. Good joints.< A combination of those, plus a good dose of Celebre. But he shouldn't rub it in the man's face that he used or, in his Doc's words, misused his medication. He knew, it wasn't healthy what he was doing. Marshall seemed to have his own demons in this regard, those songs Nicolas understood deeply. >Come<, and he walked into the forest. The trees were tall, the branches reaching into each other and blocking out most of the light. On the ground lay only a shallow layer of snow, barely falling through the foliage up above.

>A walk?<, Marshall asked, still a little confused on what they were doing here.

Nicolas only winked at him.

Some yards later, the forest abruptly ended. A wide field stretched out in front of them, the plain land now covered in a blanket of snow. Gravestones stood in solemn pride, nonyielding against the winter. They stood row after row, but others stood defiantly where they wanted to. Narrow paths, where someone had tried to free the earth from snow, lead through the field, sometimes connecting the graves with each other, sometimes not. The plan was not for a human to know.

>A c e m e t e r y?<, asked Marshall surprised. >That's a weird place for a date.<

>I like it<, Nicolas signed. It was a quiet place. A place for the dead to come together and be important once more, for the last time. A place to feel that meaning was futile. Life would always be, but oneself never mattered.

With a hesitant step, Marshall walked at his side. >Is someone here … Did you know someone here?<

Surprised, Nicolas shook his head. >No, nothing like that. It's just a nice place.< Possibly a question he should've anticipated, but hadn't. Most of the people he knew and were dead had no graves. They weren't supposed to be born, they didn't get to exist dead.

Marshall's eyes looked out onto the field, onto the rows of gravestones of all shapes and sizes. >Nice, well ...<

>I sometimes come here and make up stories<, Nicolas explained. >Like, how they lived and how they died, stuff like that. Usually, it's all exaggerated nonsense.<

>Really? That sounds like fun … m a c a b r e but fun.< Their eyes met for a long moment, the blue in Marshall's was keen and explorative. >You didn't tell me you're creative like that.<

Nicolas shrugged. >It's nothing.< Was it creative? He didn't think so. Someone like him wasn't creative, only a parasite.

>Okay, how does this work?<, asked Marshall and stepped closer to one of the tombstones. It was white but old, a wreath around two trumpets were carved into it and when he freed the stone plate in front from snow, it read: Nicholas Vandesande, 1833 - 1899, Watchman. >Look, you two got the same name.<

>Lots of people are called Nicolas.< What had Marshall said it meant? Victory of the people. Didn't feel like his existence was a victory. >Well, he worked for the fire department, that's the symbol there.< The headstones next to this had the same trumpets carved into them. >He got 66 years old. So, besides the obvious story, how about this: All Nicholas's live to kill. It's a curse hexed many thousand years ago, when the gods were still almighty and humans still believed. Names are powerful symbols, but that a puny human called himself after a god, unforgivable. The god of victories hated human arrogance and cursed everyone bearing is name. This Nicholas was a pyromaniac. Being a watchman, it was his job to stand guard, but instead of guarding humans, he guarded the fires. Possibly hundreds of houses burned because he made it so. When he was 66 years old, hell opened her gates and welcomed him. Now, he guards the fires of the netherworld, still using human souls as firewood.<

Marshall had turned to him. >That's amazing. Sounds like a comic book. I would so read that. That's really good, creepy but powerful.<

A short shrug. >Okay, if you like it.< Goosebumps crawled around Nicolas's neck, he hadn’t shared this with someone before.

They walked across the field, untouched snow thickening underneath their shoes. The white was pure and innocent, so was their silence. It was enough to walk by the graves and see the names, knowing that this person once existed. And that some day, they, too, wouldn't anymore.

Marshall stopped in front of a headstone that belonged to a woman: In loving memory of Sally A. Briggs, misguided in life, 7 July 1873 - 14 September 1911. "Weird", he said, "Misguided in life. What does that mean?"

Nicolas shrugged. As if he knew.

"Maybe …", he started his story, "Maybe she fell for a man, she shouldn't have. Maybe she had been young and naive, mistook his crudeness for confidence. Maybe he drank too much and gambled their money away, that was as common back then as it is now. Maybe he abused her, called her names and beat her, but she wouldn't leave. Maybe her family tried to get her free from him, but that's hard to do. Maybe he raped her, too, probably thought it was his right. Maybe after … twenty years or so, she couldn't take it anymore. Maybe she finally snapped. Maybe she took his gun and shot him dead. Served him right. But she couldn't bear the thought of living without him, still believing it was love what she felt and she killed herself, too. Maybe the family found them like that, obvious what had happened, and maybe they changed the story. Changed it so, that he killed her out of jealousy, that he was the one who committed suicide. Maybe, only in death her family could protect her and give her her own grave, when she hadn't lived her own life."

Softly, he stroked over Marshall's back, unsure if it was sensible through the thick winter jacket. >That's very sad.< And too realistic for comfort.

"Stuff like that happens all the time."

A long moment passed, before their feet moved again. Without a goal to head toward they walked along, not following the few paths crossing the field but making their own.

Marshall looked over his shoulders as if suspicious of something. Then, he reached out for Nicolas's hand, holding it again. They were all alone on this winter evening, only the dead were witness to their affection. The touch of their skin was worth the cold. Pulling the man closer, Nicolas kissed him tenderly. Somehow a simple touch of their hands was full with meaning.

Eventually, a statue came into view. A pedestal rose from the ground, on top stood an angel proud and her hand raised to the heavens. Next to her crouched a horned demon, clinging to her for salvation.

>It's a prison<, Nicolas explained their story. >They are both imprisoned on earth, because they dared to feel, to love, to be different than what they had been made for. Demons are instruments of hell, angels are implements of heaven - they're opposites to each other, yet the same. He fell in love with her. Demons cannot love, yet here he is. A high crime in hell as it is in heaven, because she loved him back. Of course they loved in secret, but they were discovered anyway. No secret stays hidden forever, not when you're immortal. He refused to denounce his love for her, he would've died for her. She couldn't let him go, he was the only one who saw her real self. Their love was the only truth that mattered. This is their punishment, being imprisoned on earth, in stone and the only way free is to reject what makes them who they are. Is that freedom? Hundreds of years have changed nothing. Almost nothing. He is still in love with her, unable to give her up, unable to leave her side. But she has been part of the cemetery for so long, she forgot all about the love for him she once felt. Now, she doesn't care, but she stays here anyway. Because now, she's in love with death. Though, angels cannot die and therefore, death won't ever see her.<

After the last sign, Marshall looked at Nicolas for a while before he answered: >That's tragic and romantic. Just, a beautiful heartache.<

As long as Marshall liked it.

Their feet carried them on and their cold, interlaced fingers still clung to each other. Night was creeping into the sky and onto the field. This far away from the blinding lights of the city, the moon shone down on them and his light let the snow gleam. Even stars were visible against the coming darkness up above.

They came by a rough stone from which grew a cross and in front stood the statue of a woman. The long years and the rough weather of the north had given her bronze a green color. The inscription read: K. A. Schorel, hope, faith, love.

"Some are really beautiful." Marshall halted and looked at her. The female face had a distinct melancholic expression. "She could've been good, couldn't she? One of those miracles, a good and loving person. Someone who loved without question, without conditions. Someone who understood, that fire can't be put out by another fire. Her husband probably was a lucky man. How much she believed in him probably made him into a better person as well, strong and honest. Probably warded them off against temptation and even if its fangs were too sharp, she knew forgiveness. She knew that love is more than that. I bet, she was a good mother. Someone has to be, right? A mother, who's selfless and kind, protecting her children. Even in death, she still could, couldn't she? The love for your children never dies, regardless what happens to you or them. Maybe, that's where guardian angels come from? Mothers, who'll always love their children and will always be looking out for them. A good person like her would do that. If only more people were like her …"

Nicolas's thumb caressed over the back of Marshall's hand. This had been one of the first things for him to learn, family was everything to this man.

Marshall sighed deeply. His eyes came back to Nicolas, the look in them serious. "We need to talk."

Possibly true, but the range of topics was wide. Marshall didn't talk much about himself and Nicolas didn't usually ask. Most of it was displayed in his music anyway and it seemed like enough. More importantly, Nicolas tried to avoid any counter questions. But he had no songs for the other to play instead, so those questions had to be asked somewhen. What would he answer? It felt like he had already said too much. Nothing in his life sounded appealing. Not how his father had killed Nicolas's mother. Not how his father and his band of mercenaries had beat Nicolas and burned him with cigarettes. Not how his father had abused the drugs Nicolas depended on so to keep him obedient. Not how his father only cared to make him into a killer, not raising him to be a human, not even teaching him language. How could you be a human without language? That was like being a wolf who couldn't run. Not how he had almost taken out a mafia clan, still being a teenager. Not how he overdosed his medication regularly, because he didn't care, because he should be dead anyway. Not how Worick was everything he had, yet Worick rather saw him dead, too. Not how is life was only to be painful, because that was his rightful punishment.

How could he sign any of this into their presence? Looking at Marshall, who bit his lips again, Nicolas wished his life had been different. He wished, he had other stories to tell. He wanted, that not everything in his life was drained in blood.

If only he could lie to Marshall.

Uncertain, Marshall scratched his neck. "I don't know where to start, honestly …" But their fingers were still interlaced with each other. "Kim and I, we met as teenagers. I started dating her to be with a girl and she just happened to be there. She was as broken as me, guess that's a good fit … I believed I loved her and in a way I do, I mean, she's Hailie's mother, she'll always be family - But at the same time, I hated her for all the bullshit she put me through, for all the shit she said to me, for all the times she beat me, for …" He shook his head.

Marshall took a deep breath and started again: "I wasn't always afraid of being gay, you know, I was too young and too naive to know what it means and, more importantly, what it means to others. That it's bad to be this way I had to learn the hard way, but I learned eventually. One more thing that made me wrong, that I failed at, that I … All I ever wanted was to be good enough, you know. Like, I was terrible in school, I didn't graduate and, just, I couldn't do anything. We never had money and I couldn't hold down a job. She always said, Kim always said, that I was a useless, ugly nobody … My mom used to say the same thing, told me she rather have me dead and that I'm a waste of life … And not being into girls was another thing I failed at. A big one. But I didn't want to be a failure. So, I dated Kim and tried to make it work with her. But it didn't. We were a terrible couple and we should've broken up. God, did we try, so many times did we try, but … somehow, we always came back together." As he spoke, Marshall's eyes wandered across the cemetery.

The pressure from his hand grew. "I cheated on her from the very start ... Fuck, I'm so awful, I didn't even realize that until recently. But I did, all the fucking time. Probably for a whole host of reasons I can't even say. Maybe cause I didn't really want to be with her? Maybe cause I wanted to be with somebody who liked me? Who I liked? Maybe cause I needed to prove that I was into girls after all? That I didn't fail at something so basic? Maybe cause I wanted to punish her? For all the bullshit she said? And for all the times she beat me? Maybe cause I wanted to get back at her? For when she cheated on me, too? Maybe cause I wanted to prove I wasn't ugly and useless? That somebody else could find me attractive enough? That I could be useful to others after all? Maybe cause I'm just an asshole and don't really care? Maybe cause I was too drunk or too high to know what I was doing? Is that an excuse? Maybe cause it's a high like no other? Maybe cause I wanted her to be angry with me? To get her off my back? Maybe cause when she was angry with me, she couldn't love me? Maybe cause I don't deserve love? Maybe cause it's more fun with somebody else? Maybe cause she would never do it like I wanted it? Maybe cause I want it wrong? Maybe cause I can't be happy? That I have to break anything that's nice? Maybe cause I'm just easy like that? A man slut who puts out for everyone? Just ask nicely. Maybe cause it's fun to have all these groupies be thirsty for me? Maybe cause I want to forget who I am? It's the only way to be infinite. Maybe cause I wanted somebody to love me? Even fake love? Maybe cause I'm a guy and guy's are supposed to be this way? Like, it's cool if you're a guy, right? And you shouldn't care too much anyway? Maybe cause I …" Marshall shrugged in surrender, his shoulders slouching and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe it's all of it. Maybe it's none of it. I don't know. It's just something I do and … and now, I'm doing it to you … I'm sorry." His fist drew a circle on his chest.

Softly, Nicolas kept caressing the hand he was still holding. But he pulled the other closer and put an arm around Marshall's waist. "It's alright", he said. He knew, his voice reached deeper into the man than any sign would. "It's alright."

"No, it ain't." Marshall shook his head meekly, regret and pain clearly visible on his face. "I'm hurting you, that's not alright."

What could he say to help him? Of course, Nicolas's pride was hurt, finding a good explanation in his own inadequacies. He wasn't enough to be a person, then how could he be enough for someone else? But his mind knew, this wasn't the reason. "You aren't hurting me", Nicolas repeated.

"But-", Marshall spoke up again, a tender kiss interrupting him.

"You aren't", Nicolas insisted. "You hear me? We are good." He would keep saying this until Marshall finally believed.

Marshall shook his head vehemently. "How? You want me to be yours, but I ain't. I'm cheating on you, of course that hurts like hell." Restlessness in the man's limbs.

>Of course I want you to be mine<, Nicolas signed. He didn't trust his voice to form the words Marshall needed to hear. Words he didn't know, if he had them. >You're incredible, ice princess, and I'm selfish enough to want all of you for myself.< Who wouldn't, given the chance? He wanted to ravish this man, to possess him, to set his world ablaze.

But his wishes didn't command a thing.

"I'm sorry." Marshall kneaded his lips between his teeth. It was impossible to not believe his words and the regret he felt. At least for Nicolas it was impossible, the hurt in this sensitive soul was palpable. Hurt caused by so many people, who never treated this stunning creature right.

An instinct clenched Nicolas's fist. Hatred grew in his chest and anger fueled his muscles. More than wanting his life not to drown in blood anymore, he wanted Marshall's life to heal from the pain and broken shards. He yearned to kill them, every single one of them: the father who left him behind, the mother who disregarded his life, the wife who ruined his heart. >I want to be with you.<

Marshall's head hung even lower. "And somebody else will …" Unable to escape his own thoughts once more, he didn't hear what Nicolas said. After all that he had lived through, the bottomless well of the sad story that was this man's life, he couldn't trust anything that seemed good. Nicolas knew this approach to life, it was his own after all. Regardless what he said, Marshall wouldn't believe. What could he do? "My therapist, she works …", a helpless shrug, another rub across his eyes. "I don't know what she expects from this. This is horrible."

>Be careful, that's all I ask.< Nicolas stroked over Marshall's cheeks and felt a cool wetness on them. >Don't let anybody abuse you like that again.< The thought made his blood boil. If he ever met Ryan in a dark alley, he would end him. Absolutely sure, he was the son of a bitch who had fucked Marshall into pieces without any regard to his wellbeing, clear from the man's violated body. That wasn't how you treated a partner, friend even.

Another shake of Marshall's head. "Aren't you angry with me? Aren't you jealous? I was furious whenever Kim cheated on me!"

>You are your own person.< What good did jealousy do? He didn't own himself, of course he had no claim to someone else. If Marshall wanted his life to be this way, what right had Nicolas to interfere? He only was in this relationship, because he thought Marshall needed it. Maybe he didn't? Maybe he needed more than Nicolas was able to give. What did he know about relationships? He only knew death. >You have your own life. That I like you, doesn't change that.<

Marshall shook his head, strong and denying. "No! No, this ain't how this works. This ain't how things are supposed to go." He pushed himself away from Nicolas. "No, no, no!"

Nicolas frowned confused at this. >You want me to be angry with you?< He stepped towards Marshall, but the man withdrew again. Had he said something wrong? Every romance novel he read said, cheating and jealousy was like a poison and seemingly it didn't matter from which side the poison came. >I don't want to fight you.< Not with words, much less with anything else. However this fight ended, whoever won didn't matter, because every victory was loss. Admitting no will to fight was already defeat.

"But you should!", Marshall insisted. "I cheated on you, still am - that ain't something to forgive. You should be fucking angry with me!"

What was he doing? Nicolas stepped forward again, reaching out to lay his arms around Marshall again. But he was turned down again. >I'm not you. Maybe you cannot forgive this, but that doesn't mean I can’t.<

"Fuck you! You don't care, do you? You really don't fucking care!", Marshall exploded. "As long as you can fuck me and slash me open, you don't really care! Until you become bored of me and I should feel lucky, if you don't kill me, or what? Is that it? Do you feel anything at all? I cheated on you - I fucking betrayed you! And you don't fucking care!"

>I fucking care, asshole!< How could Marshall doubt him? Nicolas cared and judging by the tightness in his chest, he cared too much. He should let him go. They should go their separate ways … but Nicolas hated this thought as much as the pain in Marshall's eyes. Who could he kill to soothe them? >I like you, you stubborn son of a bitch!<

"Then, why ain't you angry with me!" Marshall's eyes jittered in their sockets again. Did he search for the anger he expected from Nicolas? The anger he desperately wished to see in him? "If you cared, you'd be fucking angry!"

>I am!<, Nicolas's hands shouted. >I'm angry at-<

"I knew it!", Marshall interrupted him with a triumphant gesture. "Of course you are. Who wouldn't! What're you gonna do about it? Chew me out? Beat me? You have to do something, for fuck's sake!"

Nicolas fetched his dog tags out of his jacket, feeling the cold metal against his skin was soothing. A reminder, that he didn't have the rights of a person. >No!<, he signed and failed to stay calm. >No, I won't do any of that! This … This ain't so easy, kitten. I-"

"No!", Marshall interrupted him again, shaking his head with determination. "Don't call me that. Not now! You're angry with me, that's not a time for that!"

>But …< It didn't matter. What he said, what he felt, it didn't matter. "I like you", he said and could see how the sound of his voice struck the other man.

A frown grew on Marshall's face, he slowly nodded. "I know, I heard you the first two dozen times."

>Then, why are you pushing me away?< Nicolas took another step toward Marshall, but again the man stepped away. >See! If you don't want to be with me anymore, just fucking say so.<

"But I …" Marshall's body visibly shivered, the winter jacket couldn’t hide it. "I'm only hurting you. That's not okay. You need to fucking do something!"

Nicolas shook his head. >You aren't hurting me.<

"Of course I fucking am!"

>Listen to me!<, Nicolas urged, >You are not hurting me. Not by being who you are. Never.< Marshall wasn't an easy person to be with and that was part of his charm. He needed to be with people to feel happy, to be with his friends and if this wasn't enough, then … What right had Nicolas to stand in the way of Marshall living his life? Even if it wasn't healthy or wholesome. Nicolas’s wasn’t either. Was any life?

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Wild sparks in Marshall's eyes.

>I'm not lying to you!< Nicolas ran his hands through his hair, growing desperate with every new word. This was more exhausting than an actual fight. >I want you to be who you are, that's when you're the most lovely. If that means-<

In a furious fit, Marshall threw his fist into Nicolas's face, but his reflexes were faster. "I'm not lovely!"

Nicolas caught Marshall's hands. "Yes, you are." Immediately he let got of Marshall's wrists again. He didn't want to force him into anything, that was the worst he knew from experience. >I don't care what other people say or what everyone else thinks. I don't live by their shitty rules, get that into your thick skull!<

"Fuck you!", Marshall huffed and stuck his middle finger right into Nicolas's face. "I fucking betrayed you and I will do it again and again and again. If that's not hurting you, then you don't fucking care about me!"

>What you want me to do? Hate you now? Throw you away like everyone else does? I don't and I won't!< He had started their relationship to earn Marshall's trust, not to destroy him even more, that he wouldn't change now. Marshall deserved someone, who saw him for who he was - and who loved him because of it, not despite of it. Not that Nicolas was this person, but he wouldn't take the same line everyone else had with him.

"It's what I deserve!"

In a fit of frustration, Nicolas threw his hands in the air. What was going on? What were they fighting about? This was fucking absurd. >Then let's break up! If this is so unforgivable and so much the fucking worst, then let's break up. I don't care for relationships anyway. I thought, this is what you wanted, what you needed. But if everyone can just fuck you how they want and regardless how you end up, then what's with all the trouble!< This was going all wrong. He knew better than this. He fucking knew, that Marshall needed more than just sex.

"You're a fucking asshole! What am I to you, a charity case? That you have to be nice to me? Oh, poor Marshall, can't get a girlfriend and now he can't get a boyfriend either, let's throw him a bone. Is that it?" Rage contorted Marshall's face. "Fuck you! If I wanted a stupid relationship, I'd fucking have one! I don't need your pity!"

>Great, then don't! Do, what you wanna do! You want to be a slut? Fine, be the biggest slut there is! But don't come crying to me, when it doesn't work out with your fuck-buddy.< That he was sure about, whatever was between Marshall and Ryan wouldn't last. Maybe they were good friends, but not more than that.

"Don't worry about me, I have years of practice!"

The tightness in Nicolas's chest grew taut, as if it snapped him open any second. >Good for you!< Why weren't his hands signing, what he meant to say? He worried! He cared! This was wrong.

Marshall stared at him. In the darkness of the settled night not much was visible of him, but the anger seethed in his body. The ground between them was covered in snow churned by their erratic steps to and from each other, the fight of words had left a mark in the physical world. Nicolas held the stare, his mind racing on how to undo what had just happened. But there wasn't a way.

They were over.

"Fuck you", were Marshall's last words. Then, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To Be Continued … on March 11th, 2020**


	45. When You Swallow It All - Drown in Your Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall's angry and the snow doesn't do anything to cool his temper. As a distraction from the break-up, he invites some of his friends to hang out at the strip club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back!
> 
> As promised, the tale of Marshall and Nicolas resumes today. I'll be dialing my upload schedule down to once a week. The longer the story goes, the more complicated things get and I want to do justice to them but also to you. Quality needs time.
> 
> **Thanks for sticking around this long!**

"Fuck! Shit! Fuck!" Marshall kicked into a heap of snow, his foot hit the fence. "Ouch! Fuck!", he cried out. The small bit of pain was absorbed by his anger. Clenching his fists meaningless, he stomped over to his car. "Fucking Shit!" He kicked against one of the tires. Nicolas was a fucking bastard! What did the guy think Marshall was, a pity fuck? "Fuck!" Another kick.

Big Eight leaned against the roof of the car. "You okay?" Eyes glued on Marshall.

"Shut up!", he snapped back. Another kick against the tire, but it didn't help with the acidic anger raging in his blood. "Fuck! Shit!" He looked up to Big Eight. His bodyguard was big and sturdy, he wouldn't feel it, right? Marshall wanted to punch someone badly. Not anyone, one specifically, but he had stormed off the cemetery too early. _That guy would've kicked your ass eyes closed, faggot. Don't you remember the fight in the bar? God, your pussy really has a death wish._ Except for Big Eight the parking lot was empty.

"What?" Big Eight asked, holding the stare with Marshall.

Kicking the tire of his care didn't relieve the tension from his muscles. His body taut, rupturing any minute and his insides burned, he felt like spitting fire. "Fuck this shit!" Nicolas was a selfish bastard!

Marshall moved around his car and his fist came down on the lid of the trunk. A hollow bang. At least his hands had something to do. His other fist came down even harder, a series of hard blows against the metal of the car. A white puff of air left his mouth with every swearword, just about the only thing the lonely street lamp illuminated. Of course, even the weakest bit of light had to be directed on him, letting everyone know how he hated his life right now. He wasn't a goddamn pity fuck! "Fucking shit!" He wasn't! If he wanted to, he could have a different chick on every finger. There were plenty of groupies who wanted to fuck him, because they loved him and cheered for him. But no, he had to go with the bastard who had no feelings.

He shouldn't have listened to his therapist. What did she know? There was a reason he had given up on being gay, and on having romance. He wasn't a normal person.

More blows to the trunk lid. His hands hurt from the hits against the metal and from the frigid cold of the night. But the car didn't budge, of course it didn't. "Shit! Fuck!" The weak light didn't even tell him, if he made a dent into the trunk lid or not. More frustration. Another kick, against the bumper this time.

"Ahh!", Marshall screamed into the night.

Silence was the answer.

Breathing heavy, he leaned against the car and slid down slowly. He buried his face in his hands. He wasn't a pity fuck. Hadn't their time been nice? Marshall thought so. Why wasn't he worth caring about? Nicolas could pretend care, just as he pretend liked him.

Next to him, Big Eight kneeled down. "Hey Marsh … How about we go home?", he asked cautiously.

What good was that? Home. Only big, empty rooms to constantly remind him, he had no one. He would never have someone. All he was, was a pity fuck.

Sharp and with too much momentum, Marshall stood up again. When he opened the passenger side door, it rattled in its hinges. "Let's go", he growled and got into his car. The door slammed shut loudly.

Big Eight took his seat behind the steering wheel. "I'm assuming, we won't wait for Nicolas?"

"Fuck him!" Marshall suppressed a pained grown. "Let him walk home, fucking asshole. I don't care. Just drive!" He never wanted to see that man again or hear his name or even think of his face again. Only thing Marshall wished at this moment, was to forget this man existed and that they had ever spent time with each other. How had he been dumb enough to fall for someone like that? _'Cause he fucks your pussy real good, homo._ Why had he let himself become open like this? _'Cause sluts like you are always wide open._

The motor roared to life and the car pulled out of the parking lot, onto the empty street. The headlights only revealed black asphalt, heaps of snow sat on the side of the road. It was lifeless outside, and lifeless within. The radio was silent and Marshall stared out the window.

"You wanna talk?", offered Big Eight to lend his ear and his proverbial shoulder. They weren't purely bonded by money, but had also become friends over the years. Something Marshall appreciated normally, now he hated it.

His forehead knocked against the cold glass of the window. "No, I don't", he gnarled. He always made things worse by talking. "I just want to forget." This relationship was over, like all of them. Irreversibly, he wasn't made for one, not with a girl as he had so gloriously proven with Kim and not with a man, either, who just wanted to fuck his hole and, honestly, what else was there? "Let's go to the strip club, there's good forgetting." A relationship wasn't his to have, then he might as well enjoy the perks of being single. That he'd always been good at. A fuck without a name.

"Really?", asked Big Eight doubtful. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't fucking care!" What good ideas had his life to offer? None. He'd been born into a fucked up family, left to raise himself and without a skill to make much of his existence. Whatever the reason for him being wrong, the damage was already done. They had broken up, which was fine by itself, expected even since they hadn't been much of a couple to begin with. How much worse could it get?

The city had them back. Finally, houses populated the sides of the streets again and the lights of street lamps rolled over them, casting their light onto the vehicle for a short moment each. Shadows hunting but never catching. Cars drove next to them, people walked on the sidewalks. Humanity was here … but Marshall felt far away.

He grabbed his phone from his pants and without much thought, his thumbs found Ryan's number in his contacts. The green button was pressed, the dialing tone in his ear.

Then, Ryan's voice: "What up, Sunny Jim? What’s the word?"

Marshall swallowed hard. The smooth voice brought a different tremble to his body, one of anticipation and excitement, one he craved for. Exactly, how he could forget this horrible night. "Up for some fun?"

"Sure, always", the immediate answer. "Got something in mind?"

"Not all of it", he admitted, "Thought, we start at the strip club and end in your apartment." Watching beautiful bodies dance and later let their own bodies dance, this settled some of his nerves. He could feel his breathing relax. "Some ideas for the middle?"

"With you? Always."

Exactly what he expected. "I'm heading over there right now."

"I'll be there", Ryan promised.

With that, the call was over. Their date was made, so its purpose realized. What else had they to talk about? His eyes caught a glimpse of the statistics the phone provided, listing each instance of their calls. This one hadn't lasted a full minute, all the other ones were longer than fifty minutes. Of course they talked for hours, quite literally, they were friends, good ones and had a lot of things in common. But Marshall didn't pay much attention to this detail. After all, they would meet soon and all the talking could be done then, even better to talk in person. Also, they had much better things to do than talking.

Rather, his eyes scanned the list of his contacts. Was there some other name to be good distraction tonight?

Rufus's number stood right next. Him and the others were always good for a night out, but Marshall didn't tap to call. Pressure build up behind his eyes. Four years wasn't enough for the memories to fade, for the pain to weaken. Sometimes, meeting his friends only reminded him of what he had lost. He only knew them because of _him_. Tonight, just seeing Rufus's name made his heart shrivel. Who he really wanted to call wasn't no more … His head hit the car window again, eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched around the phone. This wasn't fair!

"Marshall?", softly spoken. The car stood at a red light, waiting for the signal. Big Eight's hand rested on his shoulder, a friendly touch, one to offer comfort and kindness - and Marshall hated it. "Maybe … Don't rush anything? Whatever you two are fighting about, maybe bear it for the moment? Not everything we can get rid off immediately, and we shouldn't, you know."

His eyes only opened to a slit, glaring toward his bodyguard. Biting he asked back: "From what trashy hippy movie is that?"

The traffic light switched and Big Eight focused his gaze onto the street again. "Just sayin', don't throw everything away 'cause of one fight. Sometimes it's worth waiting for stuff to sort itself out."

"Just drive", Marshall snarled, "That's what I pay you for."

Big Eight drove on, now silent.

Still holding his phone in his hand, Marshall focused back on it and the list of his contacts. If his usual friends wouldn't be good distraction tonight, who else could he ask? The more people around him, the more distraction it would be. Simple math. Scrolling down more, he came across Worick's number. Marshall bit his lower lip with memories. Had he really flirted with the man? Marshall hadn't noticed. Not that he minded if he had, the kiss was very good. Worick was a handsome man and flirting with him obviously was easy, fucking him then would be quite a treat.

Sounded like a plan, so he dialed the number.

"Hello?", a cheerful whistle.

"It's Marshall." Would the man remember him? There was a light feeling of flurry in his stomach.

"Ah, in trouble so soon?" Worick's voice had a mocking but warm tone to it. A tone, that shot directly into Marshall's groin. "You should be more careful, my friend."

He smirked briefly. "No, don't worry. Well, not yet at least. Maybe you wanna hang out?"

"Is there an occasion?" An interested question.

"Nah, just some fun. Thought, for all your niceness and shit you deserve some … compensation", Marshall explained. "You know, if you end up picking me off the streets again, you might as well join in the fun first."

"Sounds charming. What about your boyfriend, he gonna join in as well?" Worick and his questions, always the same.

"We're done."

An understanding sound at the other end of the phone. "So much for he's the best then, hm?"

"Well, I was wrong. Wanna rub it in my face, or what?", Marshall grumbled brusk.

A low, amused laugh. "How about, we celebrate your newly earned freedom? Let's forget why people have relationships in the first place. And perhaps, we find something more … spicy to rub in your face. Sounds good?"

"Sounds great." Exactly what Marshall needed.

"And since it's you, I give you the friend's discount." He could practically hear the wink in Worick's voice.

"Don't worry about money, let's take the roof off tonight." He had enough of it to throw around, might as well use it tonight. "We're meeting at the Pantheon."

"Sounds like you already have a plan?"

Marshall shrugged, even though that was useless on the phone. "Kinda. We usually start our nights there. It's a nice way to warm up, you know."

"You and your friends, I presume?"

"Yap. Well, one for now." Who else could he invite? Besides his usual friends, no good name came up. Paul wasn't in town at the moment. "So, you coming?"

"Why not?", was Worick's answer, of course in the form of a question.

"Cool. See ya in a few." Marshall hung up. Two people, that was more than nothing. He should feel lucky.

Slowly, his thumb scrolled up the list again, his eyes searching for someone else to call. Maybe two was lucky, but it didn't feel like enough.

The name of his therapist scrolled by. An angry snort. The button was pressed fast and the dialing tone beeped in his ear. Only her answering machine picked up. "Yo, thanks for nothing, bitch! He hates me now, that's what I get for listening to you. Fucking shit." Why did everyone say, talking was the answer? As long as you didn't know for sure, you could pretend otherwise. But if you said it out loud, there was no turning back.

He kept scrolling up and the name of his little brother came on the screen. Was that a good idea? After all, Nate still didn't know who he'd been dating these last couple months and now he didn't need to anymore. The experiment was over. He'd probably try to hook Marshall up with a girl, possibly one of the strippers and as nice as the gesture was, it didn't sound appealing at the moment. How was he to forget this bastard with a chick? _Your needy ass? Never. Don't waste your time at the club, I know what you want: A dick in hole #1 and a dick in hole #2, like the perfect little slut that you are._ Probably best to not have his brother there, when he had his eyes set on Ryan's dick. Not something he wanted his brother to witness, that would scar the boy for life.

So, Marshall scrolled up further and came across Kim's number. Wouldn't she be delighted to know how another of his relationships had broken? The dialing tone rang in his ear already.

"What?", answered Kim snippy.

"You got your will again."

"Marshall?", she asked.

He snorted in agreement. Who else would he be? He wished, he could be somebody else for a change. "Happy now? You won, like always."

"What're you talking about?"

"Nicolas, he broke up with me. Go ahead, dance with glee or whatever."

She was silent for a moment, likely to collect her composure to not break out laughing. "It's for the best, you know that. Maybe you can find a nice girl now?"

"You don't really believe that." Nice girls didn't end up with guys like him.

"I sincerely hope so. And if the therapy really works well, maybe there's a way for things to work out eventually for you." That almost was a nice thing to say. Didn't sound like her at all.

Marshall frowned. "Did something happen?"

"I don't take joy in your misery, Marsh." Her voice was soft. He knew this tone, she was happy. Why was she happy, but he was still miserable? This wasn't fair. "Just, I know you take things to heart, sometimes too much. Don't do anything rash, alright? Go home, crawl into bed and cry your eyes out. In a few days, it'll get better."

Marshall snorted abrasive. "Pass. Strip club sounds like more fun, don't you think?"

"Not really", she answered, "Sounds like you getting into trouble again."

"It's a club, there ain't no trouble there." Just music and attractive women and his friends. Friends weren't trouble.

She sighed impatiently. "Why did he break up with you?"

Marshall bit his lips, but he admitted: "I cheated on him." She should know without asking.

"See. Do you really think, going to a strip club is a solution? You're just doing more of the same."

"What does it matter? He broke up already." Wasn't like he got Nicolas back by becoming celibate now. _As if you could, homo. What was your longest dry spell? A month, maybe half a year if we're generous and mostly 'cause you was too depressed to get out of bed. Since you sucked your first dick, you've gotten around pretty good._ Not that he wanted the bastard back!

"Either you change, or you need to stop wailing", she explained growing annoyed. A hint of exhaustion as well. "Honestly, I never really understood that. I mean, it's not much fun like this, with a stranger. They don't know what they're doing. If anything, it's degrading and nasty and cheap."

That was precisely were the fun was. "It's 'cause you ain't much fun, of course you don't understand."

"I ain't much fun? Fuck you, Marshall, fuck you", predictably that made her angry. He still knew how to push her buttons. "At least I got a standard for who I go out with, you take everybody. I'm surprised you ain't dead yet."

_Probably, your bad luck ran out dealing with the rest of your life. Or, fate has humor and wants to see where your stupid ass ends up. That's what I'm here for._ "Runs in the family. Besides, what good is a standard anyway? Look what yours got you: two divorces and two baby daddies. Whatever standard that is, ain't one to praise."

Her voice strained with fake calmness. "You was different, when I met you, you know. A little peculiar but a nice guy. All this money and fame shot to your head."

"Oh, fuck that", he replied dismissive. "That got nothing to do with it."

"No?", she asked back disbelieving. "The drugs and groupies didn't come from that? Of course it did."

He couldn't help but burst out laughing for a moment. "If I had any money when we met, I would've been high most of the time. That shit's expensive. And groupies or no groupies, I cheated on you anyway. Did you know, I went out of my way so you wouldn't be my first time? No groupies involved yet, just me thinking I rather fuck somebody else."

"You're proud of that?"

Yes. "Just sayin', you made a bad choice from the get-go. Live with it." He shrugged, invisible to her.

"Like you are?", she asked disapproving. "You hook up with strippers and hookers and groupies and just random people all the fucking time, but act all surprised when you get dumped. Take your own advice, live with the choices you make."

"I am!", he snapped back.

"Then why're you calling me?" … _Actually, good question_. "I tell you: 'cause you don't. You want your cake and eat it, too, but it doesn't work that way. Get a fucking standard, find a nice enough girl and stay with her, for heaven's sake. It's not that hard. Like, you have a standard for every stupid thing under the sun, but not for this. That isn't normal, Marshall. Get help."

Confused, he asked: "What're you talking about? I don't have a standard for everything, that's idiotic." He was very nitpicky about his music, of course, but the rest wasn't really that important. Sure, he found it aggravating when things didn't go as planned, but what kind of weirdo found that pleasing?

"Yes, you do. Remember, how we got thrown out from the movies 'cause of you? 'Cause you couldn't sit just anywhere like a normal person, no, you had to make a scene and berate the guy who sat _in your place_ first." He wanted to interject that a good view was essential at the movies, but she went on: "Or how about my wedding dress? You had to fuss about every little detail, every frill and shit needed your fucking inspection every five fucking minutes. That should've been my job, you know that, right? But you had a vision, that's what you said, _a vision_. You changed my necklace like six times. Who does that?" He wanted to interject that a wedding was a big fucking deal, but she went on: "Or how about the fact, that I couldn't rearrange the pillows on the couch without you throwing a tantrum? How's that normal behavior? It isn't."

"It's just pillows", he huffed, finally getting a word in, "You can put them, where you want."

"Oh no", she disagreed sternly, "I couldn't and believe me, I tried, but Mr. I-had-it-perfect-just-now couldn't handle me changing up the pillows. But you changing who you sleep with on a daily basis, that works fine? That's just weird, Marshall, that's more than weird. You're sick and you need to talk with your therapist about this. Seriously." Sounded like she had a minor epiphany just now.

"About what? I don't know what you're talking about." Couldn't she make sense for a change? Was that really too much to ask? "So what if I like a good view at the movies or wanted our wedding to be perfect. That ain't a crime."

"I'm not saying it is, just … Shouldn't you be at least as picky about who you sleep with as you are about on which side of the plate your potatoes go?"

"How's that the same thing?", he asked back confused. This was a stupid conversation. Potatoes went on the right side, everyone knew that.

"It's not, that's my point", she explained.

"Know what, this is stupid. Bye." Marshall hung up. His head fell back against the seat and he took in a deep breath. He shouldn't have called her. Two people came for him, that was more than nothing. What had he expected anyway? That she would come to the club and cheer him up? Ludicrous.

Standard. What did she know about standards? She had married him, twice even and despite everything that had happened between them. That wasn't a standard, that was stupidity. Maybe also blindness.

He rubbed a hand over his face. His contact list was no good, he needed something else to find people. The app. Of course, why hadn't he thought of this sooner. There was always someone on the app ready for some fun. He raised his hand with the phone and opened the dating app, opened the chats there. The latest chat was from last week, but the guy was no good. Or more accurately, he was fine for some fooling around, but Marshall wanted something more tonight. Of course Nicolas's chat was open, which he probably should delete. Striker's chat. Marshall kneaded his lower lip between his teeth. The guy was sexy, no doubt, but also aggressive. That was something more, in a way. _What's your plan here, fag? Get fucked first and then beaten up? That guy's a loose cannon._ Why not? Something quick and dirty to take the edge off, sounded about right.

Marshall closed his eyes. His heart sank down. No, it didn't sound right, it sounded like addiction. Just one more pill to take the edge off, to calm his nerves, to silence his head, to numb his feelings. Just another pill, didn't make a difference. Just one more pill to feel like a human again.

Or a fuck.

How had he not seen this before? "Shit …", he whispered. Hurriedly he closed the app and stuffed the phone back into his pants. This couldn't be true. Not everything in his life could be an addiction, there had to be other things as well. Sex was a nice and normal thing to do, it was innately human - how could he screw this up? Maybe, the stress of the fight with Nicolas fooled him. Yes, that was a feasible explanation. Stress made you feel like shit and act like shit, no wonder something nice as sex turned bad. In their next session, he would ask his therapist for some advice regarding stress. He had learned not to rely on drugs to deal with it, then he could learn how to balance sex with it. This wasn't addiction, just misplaced coping.

The neon sign of the club came into view. A colorful shine against the black sky, but the stars were missing. Big Eight parked the car and looked to Marshall, waiting.

But he only shrugged in answer. "The others ain't here yet." He kept sitting, staring out the window. Wasn't it tragic that you couldn't see the stars from here anymore? Being colorful wasn't the same as beautiful.

Not long and the other two would show up, he thought. At least Ryan had good reason to hurry, the sooner he come here, the sooner he come in Marshall's ass. Incentive is everything. As usual, Ryan be easy to spot, camouflage won't hide you in the city where stars couldn't be seen, neither the glamorous necklace.

A warm greeting between them, friends are allowed to hug after all. Marshall feels better already with the other's arm around him. Then, Worickcalls out to him, just coming around the corner. The blond hair looks soft, perfect to bury your fingers in.

"Who's that?", Ryan asks leery. He doesn't trust easily, which Marshall understands and so he answers: "A friend." Not that they know each other long or well at all, which he can see in Ryan's skeptical look. But he can't really tell: This's the guy who picked me off the streets after you fucked me in two. Nah, that don't fly.

All three of them go and sit down inside. Music's playing, girls are dancing, drinks stand on the table. Not a surprise that Marshall sits in the middle, after all he's the link between them. Also, isn't this where the night will end?

Worick takes a sip from his beer. "You don't drink again?" Always with his questions.

"He's sober", Ryan defends. He doesn't really understand Marshall's choice, but is proud of him anyway. Ryan always has his back.

But Marshall wishes he wasn't. A cool beer sounds nice to relax by. Given the stress from earlier this night, he needs to relax first before his desires spring to live. Maybe something stronger than beer to forget that he ever knew an asshole like Nicolas. But no, he has to try and change his ways. Sometimes, staying alive doesn't seem worth it.

"Come one, a beer isn't much. It's a staple, not a drink." Worick offers his glass, a challenging smile on his face.

A beer ain't a pill, a sip or two won't hurt. Marshall shrugs. "What does it matter?", and he drinks from it. Much better than some pop.

"So, what happened?", Worick asks, curious as ever. "Just a few days ago, he was still the best, now he's not?"

"We broke up", Marshall explains, he doesn't really now how to give more detail. Besides, the how never matters much, all his relationships end inevitably, some sooner than others.

Ryan lays an arm around Marshall's shoulders and pulls him closer. "That's for the best, believe me." His body's warm and strong, an allure that's hard to withdraw from. Marshall doesn't want to, so he leans in more. With somebody this close, he won't feel lonely anymore.

Worick nods slightly, knowingly. "I got that, but why? I thought, he already knew about your cheating, why break up now?"

"We talked", Marshall shrugs again. "You know, one thing led to another and - ta-da - broken up."

"I see, so it's more an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing then? Him being okay with it? Talking is very much in sight, I guess." Worick's a smart person, ain't he, probably is exactly what happened. That's the danger of talking about shit.

Marshall sighs agreeing. "Maybe, yeah … Turns out, he doesn't really care. Easy to be okay with things you don't give a shit about."

"What's it matter?", Ryan asks, his arm still around Marshall's shoulders. "He wasn't good for you anyway, so let's drink on him being gone." He raises his glass to cheer, Worick joins in the gesture. "Enjoy the view."

But Marshall's eyes won't focus on the dancer. Her body's blurry and her curves move vague. What a pity. Is he already drunk from one sip of beer? Man, sobriety sucks even more. "I always wanted to learn that."

Surprised, Ryan laughs. It's a warm, intrigued tone. "What, pole dancing?"

"Yeah", he nods, "Looks like fun, doesn't it? And sexy."

"Really?" Ryan's hand rubs his neck gently. "You'd probably be good at it, too." He always has too much of an opinion about Marshall, thinking him better than he actually is. But it's nice.

Marshall shakes his head. "Nah, I can't dance. Why you think, breakdance never went anywhere?" Somehow he has rhythm in his mouth but not in his legs. Well, his mouth's better at most things.

An amused smirk on Worick's face. "You can breakdance? That's pretty cool."

"Thought so, too", he agrees. Besides, dancing and moving your body's a lotta fun.

"There's a market for that, you know." Worick winks at him suggestively. "If the music doesn't work out, I can introduce you to some people."

Marshall tilts his head. Does Worick still think, he's a hooker? Our could be a hooker at least. Maybe 'cause it's Worick's job. "I ain't a hooker."

Worick shrugs, but the smirk lingers.

"'Course not", Ryan butts in, yanking Marshall closer to his side. "It's called sex-positive these days and it's pretty hot."

Skeptical, Marshall looks up to his friend. "What?"

Their faces are close. "You love sex, that don't make you a hooker." A brief kiss, more like a peck on his lips. "Or slut or whatever. You just take what you want, that's pretty hot. And …", Ryan's lips ghost over his ear, "I love it when you're desperate for my cock."

Marshall kneads his lower lip between his teeth. "Me too", he admits in a whisper that probably drowns in the club's music.

"Which can make you a lot of money", Worick explains amused. He always has this tone of not taking things too serious. "Don't people always dream of making their hobby into a job?"

Ryan snorts dismissive. "He don't need that. He made it. He made it big time." Luckily.

"Are you jealous?", another joking question. "It's just a job, no need to get jealous over."

"I ain't jealous", Ryan grumbles. He's a little jealous.

Marshall shakes his head in answer. "I'm getting too old for that." The idea ain't new. When he'd been a teen, there'd be some Dollars in his pockets from trying stuff out. He had just been looking for fun, but damned if he'd say no to a few extra bucks. But he learned fast, you need to be careful. Money complicates things. "I'm closing in on forty, people don't wanna fuck that." Today he may have the situation under more control, but sex shouldn't be a chore. He sometimes has this feeling with his music when the release date draws near and they start scrambling or back when Encore had needed to happen - he hates this feeling. It sours his love for music a little, but luckily it never stays long. "Besides, I like sex, don't mean I'm good at it, like on a pro level good. That's way different."

"You seen you?", Ryan asks incredulous. "Your ass is fine as ever. And the things you can do with your mouth … Oh Sunny, it's like my personal heaven in there."

Marshall laughs at that. "You sound like the good ol' days."

Lips on his neck, warm soft lips. "I mean every word", Ryan's smooth voice fondles his ear. "I shouldn't have broken up with you."

Marshall nods agreeing, they shouldn't have. Their lips meet again and the kiss is slow and deep. It reminds him of what their past had been, what their past had never been able to be.

"You wanna try the pole?", Worick offers, gesturing toward the stage.

Marshall takes another sip from the beer. "I can't just go up there." Can he? It seems so easy how the light dances on the metal, how the blurry lines of a beautiful body wrap around it.

"Why not?", Ryan asks encouraging. "Even if you're bad, I gonna slip you some bills. Promise."

Doubting, Marshall eyes his friend. "I don't need your pity." He ain't a pity fuck!

"It won't be."

To go on stage is tempting. It's nerve wracking but also exhilarating. In the last two years he had slowly worked up his courage to go on stage sober. It's a very different feeling this way. To be up there, to feel the light on his skin and hear the screams of his name and see individual people in the crowd - to remember it all. He had needed to start small again and work his way up. Find a way to stand on stage and to work with the crowd, who all come to see him. It's frightening. What if he fails? What if he disappoints? He hasn't been booed off stage in forever, but he remembers it well and that's enough. But you start with the small things and work your way up, that's how practice works. "How about a lap dance?", he offers instead. That's smaller, that's practice.

"I take that", Ryan answers immediately and grins wide. He loves the thought, 'cause he loves Marshall on his lap.

With raised eyebrows Marshall looks over to Worick. Is this close enough?

"Sure, go ahead", the blonde answers.

So, he does. Ain't like it's the first time he tries this, not even with Ryan it ain't the first time. Moving sexy on your guys lap, of course you try that. Marshall climbs on top of Ryan, straddles him, then he closes his eyes. The music ain't special, a generic hammering of the bass and some guitar thrown in but that's probably for the better, he ain't good enough yet for some special music. He finds the rhythm and moves his hips with it. Not too difficult. Marshall plays with the zipper of his hoodie, teases with opening it, if he gives more or not - they both know he’ll give everything eventually. Marshall takes off the hoodie and it's an invitation. Hands find their way under the t-shirt. He moves his body to the music, his hips roll down on the body beneath, a demonstration where this night will end.

These big, soft lips look so fucking tempting … Marshall kisses them. He presses their bodies close together and wishes their clothes weren't here. Skin touching skin feels amazing. He moans as warm skin rubs against his own and his hands can't get enough from it, fingers circling through tattoos on dark skin. By now, his hips move with their own rhythm, needing their groins to touch more. Strong hands pinch and squeeze his ass and Marshall moans again, their lips barely letting the sound escape. He can feel their erections grow with each other as his hips keep dancing.

Marshall looks over his shoulder, he shouldn't forget the other. He invited him, so he needs to take care of him. "Wanna join in?" Still moving in rhythm, he shows off his naked ass and wriggles it playfully. After all, it is one of his best features.

An amused smirk. "Didn't you say, you'll wear a skirt to make it easier for me?" Skirts do make things easier, a big plus for women; pants only get in the way. How did he forget?

"I did …", Marshall begins his answer, but a hot tongue licking across his chest distracts him. A wet trace on his skin, then nibbling at his nipple. A quiver shakes his body and he leans his head back, enjoying it. He should wear a skirt. "I want to …", he starts again, but closes his eyes unfinished. A soft bite into the tip silences his thoughts. His nerves fire in all directions and his breathing grows shallow. Any movement outside the music feels sluggish. His hands come up and hold on to the face sucking on his nipple. "I will …" He can see colorful dots in the dark even as he opens his eyes again. The same dots are on his skirt, so short his ass pokes out underneath and his erection raises the front. Marshall looks over his shoulder again, hopeful this is right. "Is this good?", his voice is just a whisper.

A warm hand pets his head. "You'll get there", a mocking tone to the words.

Fingers find their way under the skirt, kneading his cheeks. "You're fucking hot in a skirt", the smooth voice says, vibrating against his breasts. The fingers find his hole, already eager and wet.

"I'll learn." Of course Marshall wears a skirt for him, it's sexy and easy and pretty. But that ain't good enough, he needs more. "You can teach me, how to be good", he begs. The fingers inside of him ain't enough.

He moans, a kiss swallows his voice.

The hand is still petting his head. "Then turn around and I'll teach you how to be a good slut." Yes, he can teach him, he can learn how to do this right.

"This pout of yours is really inviting, you know that?", he hadn't said anything all night. A tongue licks across Marshall's cheek, a piercing scratches over his skin. A hand too strong to fight against wraps around Marshall's throat. It's like a bench wise. He feels the first icicles of dread form in the pit of his stomach.

Marshall doesn't know, which pair of hands to follow. But does it matter? The belt around his wrists doesn't give way. It'll be for the best. Didn't he get Marshall home, when he'd been lost? Didn't he get Marshall's hole loose, when he'd been too erratic? Didn't he get Marshall obedient, when he'd lost control? He'll be getting Marshall fucked how it's right.

A hand grips his jaw tight and forces it open. A slurred sound comes from Marshall's throat, a mixture of surprise and discomfort. The firm hold pulls him off the lap and makes him turn around. The strength in the hand and the rough grip feel like his jaw would be ripped from his skull, if he doesn't move accordingly. So Marshall does as best he can.

The lips don't leave his body, now licking and kissing across his back instead of his chest. They can be much of a bastard tempting Marshall to stay where he'd been. Always wanting Marshall for himself. Selfish. He loves it. He settles down on the lap once more, a dick pushes deep into his eager hole, a wet sound underneath the cheap music. Marshall moans ecstatically.

A thumb in his mouth, he sucks at it. "Be a good slut and open wide for me", the vowels stretch just a little too much and it prickles in Marshall's ears. Naturally, he does open wide and delight pools in his stomach as the other's dick slides into his mouth. The hard flesh smothers Marshall's moans, filling his mouth and the harsh thrusts make it difficult to breath. Who needs air? But whenever the dick switches, he has a moment to catch his breath. Until it pushes back deep into Marshall's throat. Hands dig into his skull, hold on to his hair and direct his mouth where he needs to be. He wants to grab for the other's hip to not topple over, from behind the dick pushes and shoves into his ass as if it wants to tear him apart with only one fuck this time. Certainly worth a try. But he pulls at the belt in vain, it doesn't budge. Doesn't matter, the hands keep him in place. They know how to fuck him right.

Marshall closes his eyes, feeling how they fill him out. Their dicks take over his body, only thing he can do is move with their thrusts, follow their hands when the other dick should be in his mouth. Like a whirlwind, there's no up or down anymore, just the push to be deeper inside him. That's how it should be: Filled to the brim and then some. Moans and groans fill his ears, he can hear the lust. A beautifully salacious sound. A cry of desire. A shout of pleasure.

And he succeeds. He gave everything and in return a splash hits his face, he can feel the warm trail of jizz dripping down his cheeks and lips. The dick inside his mouth just as ready, twitching excited at the sight of cum on his face. Marshall can't fault it for that. Keenly he sucks at it, wants to make it cum in his mouth. Needs it. The light taste of salt spurts down his throat. He sucks more, everything else would be a waste. But he has to let go of the dick before he can swallow it all and remnants stay on his tongue. A raw, raspy cry leaves his mouth, a whimper directly following. His body tenses, his ass clenches around the dick cumming inside him. He can feel it spread inside and it's his now. It'll make him new.

Finally, he's true.

Rough fingertips caress his lips and he wants to ask, if he did good, if he can stay like this, but he ain't sure how to speak no more. As Marshall opens his eyes again, he sees spiky black hair and even blacker eyes with shadows underneath.

"My adorable slut."

A flash of light. Shocked, Marshall snapped his eyes wide open, the neon-sign of the club blinded him. His heart pumped loudly in his chest, his breathing ragged. "The fuck …?", a hoarse croak. There was a car seat under his body, his hand clutched the door handle. He still sat in his car. For a long moment he blinked, because of the light and because he wasn't sure what reality he was in. But he sat in his car, cloths on and importantly, his pants were still on his body, like they should.

Out the windshield he saw the entrance of the strip club and a figure stood in front, slowly pacing. In the colorful light Marshall was almost sure he saw a camouflage jacket and a twinkle of gold. Looked a lot like Ryan.

Marshall swallowed hard, cottonmouth, and he was sure it tasted like … "I need to go home."

"Good idea", Big Eight agreed and the motor of the car whirled back to life.


	46. I Got Shot In the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still Friday night. Finally, Marshall is at home. After the break-up at the cemetery and after he fought the urge to hook-up with Ryan, he's alone in his bedroom. But he hates it. He doesn't know what to do next and wishes, his best friend was still alive to help him.

Marshall leaned against the door of his bedroom. Alone. The room was empty and dark, only some lights from outside the windows gave the shadows contours. Pulling the gaze toward itself his big bed stood in the middle of the room like a king commanding his court. The center of attention, also a phrase to describe his ass perfectly. Even in his fantasies his ass couldn't hold out more than five minutes before it had to take over everything. Was this normal? The night lead you to believe the color of the sheets was strong and bright, green like a meadow and just as merry and peaceful. Only an illusion. His bed was cause for nightmares, all beds were. Hard to fall asleep in and always pushing for the opposite, whispering how good another body would feel pressed against his. Not wrong, but also not helpful.

He frowned as his eyes examined the scene. The other pieces of furniture like his nightstands and the dresser melted into the background. Was this right? Perhaps, having your bed be the center gave the wrong signal. An outward manifestation of … his thing?

He should call it what it was: addiction. His therapist might be cautious to diagnose him, but he could feel it in his bones. Calling Ryan and Worick tonight, of course with the understanding of sex later, that was him running away from reality, hiding from his problems and his feelings. Like he had done with drugs before. He was always trying to escape his life for one reason or another. First he had been too poor for it to be much of a life, nothing he could do against the abuse that accentuated his days, so finding anything that felt nice was a blessing. Then he had been finally rich enough to afford those distractions and everything that came with fame he hadn't been able to handle. Too much stress, too much pressure, too much anxiety, just too much of everything and he only wanted things quiet. And when disaster had struck … All of a sudden there was a world he didn't want to live in and he couldn't process that he had to.

Wasn't it obvious, that he was this way? Anything that was good he found a way to abuse.

Marshall turned on the lights and the picture didn't change. Still, his bed was the center, nothing else seemed to matter and this was by design. It had taken him hours to position the bed correctly, with measurements taken down to a tenth of an inch and papers of math and diagrams and wrong calculations to find the acceptable combination between the physical center versus the optical center of the room. It shouldn't matter this much. It shouldn't be this important.

Growling to himself, he took off his hoodie and threw it into a corner. Things needed to change. Immediately. He pulled the pillows from his bed and threw them into the same corner, the comforter followed as did the sheets. Then he hauled up the mattress out of the frame and put it against the door, out of his way. The two nightstands followed suit, next to the door and out of the way. When all obstacles were cleared up, he pushed against the bed frame. The dark, sturdy wood wasn't lightly to move, but he pushed with all his muscles and his weight against it, switching between the edges. Steadily the bed crept across the carpet. He shoved the piece of furniture into the darkest corner, the one without any windows. Finally, the frame was snuggly hugged by the walls.

Slightly breathless, he looked at his achievement. Standing in the corner, the bed seemed smaller than before, only an optical illusion. At the same time, the room looked bigger, emptier … missing. Perhaps that was for the best. His life shouldn't be ruled by a bed or what it stood for, sex and sleeplessness.

But he wasn't finished yet.

The mattress went back into the frame with new and bland looking sheets: gray. The comforter received the same treatment, a gray cover although it had some black patterns on it. That's the dullest he found in his closet at short notice, tomorrow he'd need to buy new ones. Only one of the pillows went back on the bed, the one he slept on, but all the others needed to leave.

With a sense of accomplishment he wiped over his forehead, more as a gesture of finishing up a task than because of any sweat. He went back to the door and examined his bedroom again. The new look of his bed was … kinda uncomfortable. Triumph. The windowless corner and the dark wood gave off a gloomy vibe, the gray sheets were boring and lifeless. That was exactly how his bed should look like: disinviting. If his bed didn't seem like fun, maybe using it could become the utility it ought to be.

The dresser could probably stay where it was, but his two nightstands needed a makeover as well. In this new arrangement, there was only space for one next to his bed. But if he could only use one, he needed to consolidate their contents. So, Marshall went ahead and emptied the drawers out on the floor. Empty, he pulled one of the nightstands to the head of his bed, ready to receive the new and improved set-up.

The picture of his daughters wasn't even a question. A smile, as he looked at it. It was a little old, his girls a couple of years younger than they were now and Whitney flashed a grin that missed a tooth, the first of her baby teeth's to go. Marshall gave the picture a tender kiss, before he put it back on his nightstand. He made sure, it stood firm and wouldn't be accidentally knocked over by him fumbling with the alarm clock, which was the second piece to go back. Also the lamp was going back as well. The cord wasn't long enough to reach the outlet on its own from this position, he would need to get an extension later. Likewise, the little case with his glasses he put in one of the drawers again. Normally he wore contacts or didn't bother, but it was good to have them just in case and to know where the hell he had put them.

Marshall sat down on the floor, ruffling through the many pieces of paper that always accumulated around him somehow. Well, he knew how, of course, he wrote his thoughts down all the time. Notes and phrases that came to him around the time of sleep, usually when he was lying awake in his bed and his thoughts went around in circles. Writing them down helped sometimes, not always. Now, he straightened the papers out and collected them into a stack. They would go to the rest of his notes, unattached and disjointed notes like these all came into a shoebox. It was time he cleaned these out and got them sorted in. Astonishingly, often enough he found something in these stacks when he looked through them working on a song that didn't work just yet. So, a pad of paper and a pen was indispensable to him, better he had two or three of those in a drawer of his nightstand.

Some buttons and loose change he brushed to the side, this didn't need to be here. A single white shoe lace. What did this do in here? Where was the other one? Which shoe had it belonged to? Not a mystery for tonight. Empty wrappers of a candy bar. How symbolic, he had actual trash in his bedroom, that explained a lot. Also belonged on the pile to throw out later. He held a small, black plastic rectangle in his hands and the white letters read: Fart Noise Machine No 2. Amusing? Very much. Appropriate? Possibly not. He needed a maybe-pile. A few cards from his daughters for Father's Day, that was very nice and he'd surely keep them, but not here. Was there room on the fridge? He'd need to check tomorrow.

The pair of headphones and the discman stayed, naturally. A stack of CD's was vitally important to him. This filled a drawer all on its own. The next items that came between his fingers were chapstick, nail clippers and a nail file. They all went back into the nightstand as well. He had a habit of fidgeting and nibbling, he needed something to curb that a little.

Looking at the last things to sort, Marshall sighed. His wedding ring. That was a can of worms he didn't want to open right now.

Also, a small box of tissue paper and that might seem innocent enough, but there was also a small bottle of lotion, 'cause of course there was. He knew exactly, what he used these items for and wasn't that kind of the problem?

But his mind really hesitated, when his eyes settled on the vibrator. Maybe Kim had been right all along and he shouldn't like this? Was it wrong, that he indulged in these wants, even if it was just himself? Considering how greatly his ass responded to this, it probably was wrong. Anything he wanted so much usually was wrong. After all, there was a reason the toy had been hidden away in the depths of his closet for years. A small smirk, he had been in the closet quite literally. He should be cleaning it out next.

But the toy … Was he just a gay man doing normal things? Or was he enabling a behavior that destroyed his relationships? Was he fueling his addiction every time he used it? Or was he just a human, who wanted some sexual relieve every now and then? His therapist always repeated, that you liked what you liked.

What did that mean exactly? He hadn't really thought about what he liked in the years past. Ever perhaps. Sex was a thing you did, overthinking wasn't useful. Perhaps though, he should think about it a little, especially with his propensity to get himself into trouble. He'd always thought it was the alcohol and drugs that lead to these escapades; apparently he had thought wrong. Chances were, him not thinking and just doing was more avoiding. This usually meant, he was doing things wrong.

His hands turned the vibrator around, while he sank into thought. Undeniable, sex was a lot of pleasure and there was a lot to like … Ryan's body came to mind. Tall, muscular, numerous tattoos and smooth skin, Ryan was a great sight and to feel the body underneath his fingertips, that made Marshall tingle with anticipation and pleasure, even as a fleeting thought. A tingle that begged for more and his fingers stroked along the silicone shape, the deep blue color a stark contrast against his light skin. Kissing him even more so. On that Saturday night, it had been impossible to not go for Ryan's dick, with his hands or his mouth or his ass hadn't mattered. Why had the urge been so strong, so impossible to resist? Daydreaming about him was just as pressing, making Marshall just as desperate. That couldn't be normal.

He licked over his lower lip, caught it between his teeth. The pictures of the dream, of that Saturday night prickled underneath his skin. Having Ryan's hands on him, his lips and tongue on him, his dick inside him … He had liked that, hadn't he? He still liked it, the thought swirling in his head and the silicone almost felt as smooth as Ryan on his tongue. How they had rocked against each other slowly, savoringly, just being close to each other. It wasn't wrong to like that. When passion had picked up speed and he'd been hot and blissed all over, he had liked that very much as well. Who wouldn't?

A low hum in the air, his own voice. His hand was kneading his dick through the jeans, a hot tremble in his fingers and in his stomach. Instantly, Marshall jerked back against the bed frame, the toy now slick with his spit fell to the floor. A dull thump.

"Fuck …", he mumbled. He liked it so much, he forgot any self-control. Again. Could you like a thing too much?

Probably. What about when it had started to hurt? When they had fought about … whatever it was, had he liked that? Having sex while fighting wasn't a good decision. Though, that hadn't been much his decision at all, had it. Sure, he had wanted the sex with Ryan that night, all night long, but not necessarily like this. Did it matter? He had told Ryan to get his dick out and he had fought against Ryan's grip seriously, but to no avail … Marshall rubbed softly over his wrists, the proof of Ryan's ignorance was long gone. How was that something to like? It actually sounded kind of horrible looking at it matter-of-factly. To ignore him, was that okay? To fuck mercilessly until he bled, was that okay? Marshall had the suspicion, his therapist had a strong opinion on this. Possibly, he himself already had an opinion on this, too, remembering the desolate and disheartened mood he'd been in when he woke up in Ryan's apartment all alone.

Didn't change how his dick was hard and twitching just thinking about it. Or how raw the daydream had fucked him, maybe not against his words but surely against any modicum of decency. Exactly the reason why sex hadn't been much fun with Kim. She could be angry and rough with him, controlling until he did things right, but she hated to put in the effort. She wanted sex to be convenient and practical, Marshall didn't.

Huh … He reached out for one of the notepads and a pen and wrote down: rough, controlling, not practical. Question, was this tolerable? Or was this just him being wrong? His therapist would probably repeat, you liked what you liked.

But wasn't that the problem? He had liked that Saturday with Ryan, the slow sex first just as much as the rough sex later and maybe his wishes being ignored wasn't all that right, yet he'd cum and he would do it again. He had kept wanting more, used the vibrator even after Ryan had left, even though it had hurt. But why? Not because he had liked it, he was almost sure. The pain was real and he had cried because of it, that didn't sound sexy or hot or just agreeable. The feeling of punishment welled up, but was sex actually a good tool for that? Or one you should use? He didn't know. Of course he did things wrong all the time, still, was this helping?

No. Nicolas had broken up with him.

Marshall let the notepad sink to the floor next to the toy and a hand rubbed over his eyes. This was horrible. Of course he had known they hadn't been serious, they hadn't really been a couple, not in love, still Nicolas's words hurt. The illusion had felt so good, now knowing Nicolas didn't care for him and only played his boyfriend to fuck him with a clean conscience … It hurt. How could he be so nice, when he didn't mean it? That was cruel.

Was that something he liked? Niceness. No wonder he didn't know, that wasn't something he got. Marshall sighed deeply, sad. His index finger traced the outline of the toy like he had traced the scars. He remembered the morning with Nicolas, waking up next to him and exploring each other's bodies just like this in the early sunlight. That was the definition of nice, wasn't it. If he could, he'd like to repeat it. He remembered the first kisses that Saturday night with Ryan, the tight embrace and the slow smelting into each other. So nice, so lovely. Sucking that beautiful dick just like this, because he loved to hear the raspy sound of pleasure in the smooth voice. They shouldn't repeat it or it might become to mean something. He remembered Kim coming home, a nice dinner, a nice conversation and a night of sweet kisses and tender touches. That's when he'd thought, they should marry again. Moaning into each other's mouths while their bodies burned into each other, just like his own hands did now. But niceness wasn't part of his life, not permanently.

Another moan loud in the silence of the room, interrupting his thoughts and his actions. What was he doing? Hastily he climbed on his bed, away from the toy, which laid on the floor glistening alluringly and the picture made his hole twitch with want. Marshall kneaded his lip between his teeth. Couldn't he spend one night without sex? This was bad. He buried his face in the sheets, as if this shut out the world or maybe shut himself in, he wasn't all that sure about the direction.

What he was sure about, that this was wrong. Nicolas had broken up with him just now and yes, they hadn't been a real couple but still Marshall had liked the man and the time with him and in any case being broken up with always hurt. Shouldn't he lie in bed and cry his eyes out? Or maybe hole up on the couch, eat junk food and watch a terrible movie with his daughters? Or meet with his friends, platonically, and whine about how shitty dating was? You know, shit normal people did in these sort of situations. But no, he wasn't a normal person and almost organized half an orgy with some guys if his sanity hadn't kicked in at the last minute. Seriously, this was fucked up.

\- I told you that.

What did he think a gangbang would achieve? Prove, that he didn't care about Nicolas and that the break-up didn't hurt? Pure stupidity.

\- I told you so.

Even here, in the comfort of his own home, in his own fucking bedroom he couldn't do anything else but get a dick inside him, a fake dick but still. Was this his only move?

\- I told you, Doody.

There was no alcohol and no drugs he could blame. He was stone cold sober and yet, if he had went into the club, if he had met with Ryan and Worick tonight, he was abso-fucking-lutely sure, by now he'd be on his knees getting his holes stuffed.

\- I to-

"Yes, yes, you fucking told me!", he snapped at the imaginary voice he wished was real. "You've always been right, I fucking know. That ain't helping." A deep sigh and he climbed off his bed. He walked to the dresser, where _his_ photo stood proud. A toothy grin that always was slightly mocking Marshall. Heavily he propped his arms up on the wood and stared at the only thing that was left of his best friend: a picture, a song, a memory. "I don't know what to do", he confessed in a shaky whisper.

\- Doody, you're a dumbass. You deserve someone being nice to you.

He shook his head. "Not really. I did quite the number on Nicolas … You know me, you know how I am." Nothing he had done these past couple weeks was new or unique or surprising to him. Maybe that he found a way to act on his gay desires openly, but even that was less new and less surprising than he wanted it to be. If he was being honest with himself and actually dug through his memories, there was plenty of gay sex and many different dicks to find. He hadn't even always been ashamed of it and DeShaun had made it sound as he shouldn't ever be. Sharing thoughts he really felt, truth so basic to his being with his best friend and not losing him because of it, that had made his life infinitely better all on its own.

\- Get your head out of your ass. You're my best friend, I don't have losers or assholes as friends, therefore: you must be a good person. Trust me.

"Doesn't tell me what to do now", he lamented to his friend, who wasn’t here. "He's gone and I … I just throw myself deeper into this. I definitely have a problem." He lost control too easily over himself. Just a small hike in his emotions and his best solution to deal with it was a threesome. But if he was calm, the same thing happened. That one time with Nicolas with the belt and the picture, he'd arrived calm at the motel, horny very much but overall collected. Yet, he had lost all semblance of control in just a few minutes. The same with Ryan on that Saturday, his plan had worked perfectly and then, he had flown off the handle immediately. Why had he planned that at all?

\- That's the thing with you, Doody, you get something in your head and you just have to do that. There's no changing your mind, believe me, I tried.

Marshall sighed ceding. "I know, I know … Just, I don't know how to stop." Perhaps this was behavior acceptable when you're twenty und drunk, but he wasn't no more, he was sober and a father. He should grow up, be an adult, be responsible, but he wasn't. He went out a lot of nights and hooked up with nameless people, too many of them to remember their faces and when he came home, his daughters worried. Not only did they worry, they helped him into bed because he couldn't do it on his own. Not acceptable. Yet, there was a way too big a chance tonight would've ended similar. He couldn't be sure of course, looking into the future wasn't his specialty, but deep down … That fucked-out state felt amazing.

\- Doesn't that freak you out? You throw yourself at random people and … I know you like it and I want you to be happy, but you need to be more careful. Don't let people take advantage of you, man.

"I don't. I know what I'm doing." Mostly. Now he knew, he wasn't a naive kid anymore, that helped. Marshall opened the photo album, that lay next to the picture, CD's standing in a semi-circle proudly showing their covers. How was this all that was left? "It's okay, aight, it's … It's good this way." He knew what he got himself into, not necessarily why, but he knew how to deal with shit. Admittedly, sometimes things got too out of hand even for him, but if he got himself into it, he knew how to get himself out of it. Besides, Striker had been the first mistake like this in years. More a miscommunication on his part, wanting too much too fast and at the same time not being ready for crazy shit like this just yet. Same way he had to relearn how to rap now that he was sober, this too he needed to ease himself into again, relearn how to do this safe.

\- I wouldn't call it safe what you're doing. I mean, Ryan's a cool dude and all, but he's using you. I'm telling you, behind closed doors he likes to fuck you and tell you how much he loves you and shit, but he won't follow through. He don't keep you safe and he don't give you what you really want.

Marshall rolled his eyes. How often had he heard that? If he gotten a nickel every time. "I know he ain't serious with me and shit. Neither am I." Maybe back in the day he'd been more serious about Ryan. After a while, he might've believed they could be something, sure hidden and secret but at least to each other they could've been real. They hadn't been. Perhaps he should've been more honest with his therapist, told her, that yes back in the day, a little love probably was involved. Wasn't how they had started out and wasn't where they had ended up, but somewhere along the way, for a moment Marshall had believed Ryan was a good person to be with. Today, they were only fucking each other 'cause it was better than with most.

He smirked sadly at one of the photos. Them both on stage rapping into microphones and missing almost all their tattoos. DeShaun didn't look much different, an arm around Marshall's shoulders holding him close. But he couldn't believe how young he himself seemed, cheeks flushed and eyes dazed. He couldn't remember when or where this was. Though, there was a big plastic toadstool in the background and that thing he remembered, as well as the jokes about mushrooms while taking them, a quick fuck before the show and that DeShaun had guarded the couch he had slept on later that night, after the aftershow fucking. "You've always been there for me … I never really thanked you for that." He should've. He should've shown DeShaun how much he meant to him, how important he was to him, that he trusted DeShaun with his life, the only thing he owned at the time. He should've tried harder.

\- Keeping an eye on your squirrelly ass is like herding cats. But you know what, it's damn worth it. Best friends for life.

A sad smile. Marshall rubbed over his eyes, trying to wipe away the memory of a long ago conversation. DeShaun in the front seat of a car, Marshall lying across the backseat half naked and raw, but his friend been there so no need to feel alone. With him, he never was alone.

"She's gonna rip your head off, dude." DeShaun's dark voice had always put his mind at ease when nothing else could.

"She don't need to know. I just lie low for a while." Of course his stupid idea. It hadn't worked, shockingly.

"How long? I don't think that scratch on your back'll be gone in a week. She gonna know." Was it a scratch? Maybe it had been a bite mark? Or a reference to him limping? His ass surely liked to get fucked, but it always acted like a prima donna afterwards. Marshall didn't quite remember, but the concern in DeShaun's voice he remembered very well. He wouldn't ever forget.

"Then she'll know. What she gon' do about it? Un-fuck me?" A hoarse laugh. He could be this obnoxious and laugh about his own jokes, not always a benefit. But when life was shit, laughing was all you could do to keep sane.

"Not even the Virgin Mary can do that." That's a way better joke. Why had they never used it in a song? "How did you end up in that motel anyway?"

"Dunno. Was flirtin' with this chick and she knew someone, right, and this guy said his girl’s into double-dicking and … Don't know, man, I had better things to do than to check invitations, y'know." Marshall sighed. His lack of attention had been more of a pain than his other personality traits. When he had gone out in need for a hook-up, probably drinking too much, more often then not the night had ended like that: in a room he didn't know, with people he didn't know, having sex until he came apart. Not necessarily bad. Not always good.

"You feelin' okay?" DeShaun hadn't judged him, hadn't preached to him, hadn't left him. There weren't words to express how much Marshall had loved him for just being by his side.

"I'm fine, just spent." Now, in hindsight, he knew he hadn't been fine. In moments like those, he'd often felt the worst. When the high of the night drained out of him, when realization hit his brain and yet he couldn't remember a single face, only a chorus of voices singing in lust. Sometimes he had wanted to die so badly …

"You don't look fine." DeShaun always had seen right through him, that's what made him such a good friend: DeShaun just knew. "You need something to drink? To eat? I don't think I have painkillers here anymore." Rummaging in the glove compartment.

"It's okay. But thanks."

The car pulled over and stopped. Next thing he remembered was DeShaun's arms around him, holding him close, rocking him like a baby. Him crying like one. He didn't know why he had cried that night, not because he didn't remember but because he hadn't known back then either. Some nights he felt so awful, crying was all he could do. Over the years Marshall had learned to deal with this, first in the wrong way with more pain and more stress, but in therapy he found better ways to deal. After his depression had almost cost him his life. DeShaun would be proud, that he stopped hurting himself.

But had he? Marshall wasn't so sure anymore.

"You're a great person … you'll find somebody … somebody you trust … somebody who likes you … it's okay … you're my best friend exactly the way you are … you're amazing … nothing's gonna change that … ever … I ain't afraid of you … you're my best friend … I love you … this ain't a solution, man … this ain't a life … let me help you … I'll always help you … you're an idiot sometimes … don't be miserable forever … I don't want that for you, you deserve to be happy … you're my best friend, I hate to see you hurt … you can defend yourself, you know, you should … you deserve someone being nice to you … if you need anything, let me know …" More than these sweet nothings, DeShaun's voice had helped. Him being there and keeping Marshall grounded was immensely precious. How was all of him just gone?

The weight of the memory, of this only being a memory pushed him down and a sob echoed from the walls. Tears wouldn't bring his best friend back, he knew, but what else could he do? He wrote for him and kept rapping and stayed alive for him, but this didn't bring him back, either. It was selfish to wish for DeShaun only because he didn't know how to live without him. How the fuck was he supposed to get over him?

And he wished he'd been a better friend to DeShaun. That he had gotten into less trouble, that he had eased on the wild nights, that he wouldn't have needed his best friend to watch over him so fucking much. Not many were lucky enough to have a guardian angel like this and God, he was so thankful. Hopefully DeShaun knew, that he felt grateful for it, for all of it. He never got to say 'I love you' as much as he wanted to, as he felt it. But DeShaun always knew. He should've listened to his best friend more, so much more. He should've dated Howard seriously when they'd had a chance, should've put in more effort for him, maybe he could've pretended to be a good boyfriend a little longer and perhaps it could've worked out. DeShaun had thought so, that's why he'd introduced the two of them, played a little matchmaker for him. That's what DeShaun did best, bringing people together.

\- Come on, let's do this step by step. There has to be something we can do. So, even though you have all the reasons to, you don't want to stop fucking around. Aight, got that. But you gonna get broken up with again, if you keep doing this. I'm assuming, you don't want that, either, huh?

Marshall smiled shy, thankful. How often had he heard that? DeShaun thinking out loud exactly what Marshall's problem was. Usually him wanting too much, wanting things that were antithetic to each other. But DeShaun didn't fault him for it, just accepted Marshall being weird. Best friends for life. DeShaun always wanted to find a solution that worked for Marshall, regardless how crazy it might've sounded. "Honestly, no", he admitted into the silence of his bedroom.

Perhaps, definitively, he liked sex rough and porny, to deny that at this point would be pure delusion. His daydream was clear evidence or more the fact that he would've turned it into reality. The kinky night with Nicolas not far behind and that was just the tip of the iceberg, or more aptly a different kind of tip. He probably had fucked in every motel Detroit had, had crossed many unknown doorsteps for this purpose and often enough, unfortunately, he hadn't even bothered with that. A dark alley was just as good. A cold shiver raised goosebumps over his body as another memory emerged from the drug induced holes in his brain: An alley behind a club, snow falling on his exposed skin, him bracing against a brick wall, time halting while somebody fucked his ass, someone else fucking him, voices laughing when his legs gave out. DeShaun had a warm blanket for him to spare.

Why hadn't Marshall been there, when DeShaun had needed him? How often had DeShaun saved him? But the one time there was an actual worthy life on the line, Marshall couldn't do anything to help his best friend, his brother really. If anyone of the two of them should've died at a club, why had it been DeShaun? This didn't make sense.

And now he had just realized niceness was something he liked. Problem was, he couldn't have it. The only person, who'd ever been nice to him, wasn't no more. He had to live out the rest of his life in pretense.

\- How 'bout, and I'm just spitballing here, how 'bout you find a guy who genuinely cares about you and is a lil' freaky on the side? A little happiness will do you good.

"Sounds too good to be true. If you ever see a guy like that, let me know, aight." He couldn't think of anyone who fit the bill and he doubted a guy like that actually existed. The notion, that everyone had their one true love walking around somewhere and they only needed to find each other, was laughable. The world didn't work this way, but was a complex labyrinth most people got lost in. His was a little more complicated than most, because he loved to take the wrong turns.

Marshall leaned his back against the dresser and looked into his bedroom. It irked him that the bed stood in the wrong place. Moreover, even if the toy didn't end up back in his nightstand, it'd end up in his closet again - easy access. As sure as shit he had a problem, that was fucking obvious; but he wasn't at all okay with giving up sex. He had always slept around too much, he knew that and DeShaun had given him a piece of mind when Marshall let himself be carried away to excess. Looking back honestly, he should've listened, not all those nights had turned out fine but sometimes had only heightened the pain. The urge unbearable, the need irresistible and then, when his head cleared the next morning he felt disgust and pity for himself. Other nights though he'd been doing the same, was acting just as wild and he had loved every second of it, but yet the bitter aftertaste never came, only contentment and comfort. A gratification he couldn't live without. In the end, he always went back out and did it all over again.

Curiously, he couldn't really think of a time when he hadn't gotten around one way or another, even before DeShaun was there to put him back together. As a kid, he had found boys in the neighborhood to make out with, until he learned his lesson the hard way. His mom not looking after him came in handy, when he went out on school nights and found some easy dicks to practice his mouth on. Somehow this seemed to be deeply wired into him and he wasn't sure he really wanted to lose it. For the sake of a partner he absolutely should, but … There hadn't been a person he loved enough to give this up for. And there hadn't been a person who loved him enough to try.

One more deep sigh. "I miss you, Doody."


	47. One Day I Plan To Be A Family Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last Sunday before Christmas. Marshall and his daughters are decorating the tree, also the girls give him relationship advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you guys are staying safe out there! Maybe this bit of family fluff can be a distraction. A little bit of relaxation now is important to stay sane and being able to help those around us.

"That straight?", he asked. "Don't feel straight." _You ain't. You playing inverse limbo and checking how high your ass goes?_

"Yes." - "No." His daughters' answers weren't at all helpful. "From here it is", Hailie explained, "This is the good side, that's all that matters."

"Who says that?", Lainy asked. "This side looks way better."

Marshall robbed free from under the tree and stood up again. The lowest branches of the fir quivered slightly from where he crawled out of. His back didn't appreciate these floor exercises and he rubbed his neck for a second. Sleeping on the ground wasn't a thing he could recommend, but his bed was all wrong, how could he sleep in there? Focus, different problem.

Every year it was the same: nature defied his sense of symmetry and his daughters weren't helping. "Didn't we agree, this was the best side?", he asked and pointed to Hailie's side of the tree. Common sense dictated, if the tree couldn't appear straight on all sides, the good looking side was the measure of success. No tree ever appeared straight from all sides, at least not a real tree. This was usually the moment, when Marshall thought about buying a plastic one and saying to hell with this. _You know how to handle a nice piece of plastic, homo, but real life's always better, ain't it?_

"You guys agreed, not me", Lainy explained. "I like this side better."

Hailie shook her head. "There's a huge hole in the middle. See", she came to her sister and pointed out the gap between two branches. "There's a branch missing right here. That's just bad."

"That's where the big bulbs go, obviously. We always have to shove things aside for them anyway. Why not take the side that has actually space for them for a change?" Lainy had a point there.

Whitney jumped up and down. "I wanna put the star up. Can I put the star up? Please!" Excited she pulled at Marshall's t-shirt. "Pretty please!"

"Not now, Sweetie Pie", he tried to calm her and pried the star shaped ornament from her hand. The top decoration always went last, she knew that, but her excitement got the better of her every year.

"But this side has better levels", Lainy explained.

"So? My side has more branches", Hailie refuted.

Marshall sighed. He had heard all their arguments for the last half hour or so. They both had good points and no one wanted to relent. "How 'bout we take the real ugly side?", he suggested and went around the tree to the obvious backside of it. A small branch was already getting brown and there was a twig sticking out without any needles on it and the whole greenery was rather slim.

"No!", all three girls said in unison.

Good, at least some agreement could be reached. "Fine, then pick a side."

"It's my side, that's the best. It's all green and bushy and full, how a Christmas tree should be." Hailie was a very stubborn girl, she probably took that after her mother. "And it's straight now." Maybe his influence didn't help matters.

Lainy shook her head. "What good is that, if there isn't any space for the bulbs and stuff? Without levels, it's gonna be all chaos and ugly when we're done."

"Whitney?", Marshall asked growing exhausted already, "You have to decide."

"I want to put the star up", she said.

Conspiratorial, Hailie laid an arm around her sister's shoulders. "That will look way better on my side, don't you think?"

"Uhm, yes …", Whitney hesitated and nodded unsure.

"Hey, that ain't fair", Lainy objected and looked to Marshall for reassurance. "She says yes to everything, as long as she gets her stupid star."

"My star isn't stupid", Whitney pouted.

Marshall shrugged. "It's two to one, I take it." _I know a two-to-one you take, ball's deep and gagging._

"That's not fair", Lainy repeated.

Hailie grinned wide. "Democracy ain't fair, bitch, it's a shark tank."

Marshall clicked his tongue chiding. That was a bleak outlook on politics … Enthusiastically, and hopefully distracting, he clapped his hands. "Lights, girls, the lights."

It wasn't at all surprising that Whitney tangled herself into the lights, instead of disentangling them. The same almost happened to Marshall, as he put the lights with the smallest bulbs around the tree trunk. The tree would glow from within, that looked really great, but squeezing his arms between the branches to reach the trunk and with the chain of lights in hand - not an easy task.

But eventually, all four light sets were in and on the tree. Two as small dots around the tree trunk and randomly scattered across the branches, and two with actual candle shaped lights going in circles on the tips of the branches. After the obligatory test to see, if all lights shone and if they were distributed evenly, the real fun of decorating a Christmas tree could start.

"Oh, we can't forget the champagne", Lainy remembered and hurried into the kitchen.

"And the music", Hailie agreed and looked at Marshall waiting.

"Music? In this house? Only 'cause it's Christmas", he joked and went to the hi-fi system. His girls were forbidden to play with it and usually they followed. They thought of it as too complicated anyway. Now he turned on the equipment. "What you girls wanna listen to?"

Hailie and Whitney already stood in front of the collection of CD's, each reaching for their favorite compilation of Christmas songs. For the first round, he went with Whitney's choice and soon, the melodies of the season sung by children filled the room.

Lainy came back with a tray in her hands, on it were their fanciest glasses and a bottle of children's champagne. It was their tradition to make the decorating of the tree as festive as possible, a fancy bubbly drink was part of this. The clink of glasses.

First and most important were of course the bulbs the girls had painted themselves a while back. These were the centerpieces of their decoration, not only because they were made with love, but also because they were three times the size of all the other ones. Marshall had splashed out for his girls there.

The other decorations weren't special but colorful and shiny and glittery. Not for long and Marshall was glittery himself - _perfect for a little gay looking boy like you_ -, a tinsel garland hung around his neck. Just the right kind of fancy for their tradition. Lainy and Hailie tried on some of the smaller bulbs as fake earrings, before putting them on the tree. Whitney was already throwing some of the lametta around, on the tree but also on herself sometimes. All the while of course the family was singing along with the CD. This was the best part of Christmas for Marshall, the fun he and his daughters had decorating the house and enjoying the sometimes stupid traditions the season brought with it. It was a time for family.

"So …", Lainy started and eyed her father for a second before she put an angel figurine on the tree. Half of their decorations already hung on its branches. "D'you and Nicky have plans for Christmas? It's in the middle of the week this year."

Marshall sighed internally. Why had he so curious daughters? A little bit of forgetfulness wouldn't hurt them. "We broke up."

"What?", asked Hailie surprised, "For real? Why?"

"Ouch …", whispered Lainy. "Right before Christmas, that's rough."

He rather concentrated on the ornament in his hand and the branch it didn't want to stay on. "Didn't work out." Why didn't this stupid ornament stay put? Goddammit. "Sometimes stuff happens." As if he could talk with them about this, not only because they were his daughters and he shouldn't go to them for relationship advice, but also it was hard to talk about Nicolas without revealing that he wasn't a woman. He so definitely wasn't. _And you looove it, homo! Maybe Santa puts a dick in your stockings this year. You've been a good gay looking boy?_

"What did you do this time?", Hailie asked and he could feel her suspicious look on him.

He looked back at her with a frown and held the stare. "Why's it have to be my fault?"

She shrugged. "It's usually you, who does something stupid. Why it has to be this way, I don't know."

"We had a fight, like two days ago", he admitted. Maybe his daughters were tactful enough to not pry in an open wound?

"So?" Nope, that didn't sound tactful.

"That's a two-way street, you know. It's as much his fault as it's mine", he grumbled defensively.

"What did you fight about?", asked Lainy.

Marshall shrugged. "The Doc said, I should talk about your mom, and so I did. Like I thought, I shouldn't have." Kim never was a nice topic to talk about and infidelity even less. A fight then was just inevitable.

"But, you don't love mom anymore", Whitney said a little confused.

Marshall ruffled her hair interlaced with the lametta. "I always gonna love your mom, she's family."

"You know what she means", Lainy interrupted. "You guys aren't married anymore, why fight about her then? Or is Nicky jealous of mom? That's stupid."

"No, that ain't - We didn't really fight about Kim per se, more about ... I don't know, about us, I guess?" He couldn't really put into words, what had happened at the cemetery. It had started nice and romantic and suddenly they were fighting and breaking up. _You were acting like a little bitch, that’s what happened._

Hailie went to the stereo system and turned the volume down. "Start from the top, Dad. What happened?"

"That ain't really your business", he deflected. "It's over, end of story."

"Oh, come on", she snorted, "You and mom broke up all the time and that never was the end of the story. No reason to start now. Nicky did you good, isn't that worth fighting for?"

Marshall shrugged this off. "We’ve only known each other for a couple of months."

"So?"

"So, there ain't much", he explained. They had only seen each other a few times and texted a bunch, that wasn't enough material to like someone. _Who're you kidding? You love his dick. You even learned a fucking language for this guy. How stupid can you be?_ He liked the thought of having a boyfriend, didn't mean he liked this one. _Shut up, bitch._

Lainy shook her head. "Time doesn't matter if you like someone."

"Obviously, he doesn't like me", he snapped petulant and turned back to the tree, hanging another decoration on it. He was getting childish a little, so much for he should be an adult and responsible.

Whitney hugged him in response. "But we love you, Dad."

He put a kiss on her head. "Love you, too."

"Did he say that?", Hailie asked, sticking her head around the tree to watch him carefully.

"Just 'cause he says he likes me, doesn't mean he does", he answered growing grumpy on this topic. In a second, Marshall flinched. Had he just used the wrong-right pronouns? _Hahaha! Serves you right, fag._ Shit! Fuck! With shocked eyes, he looked at his daughter, who still eyed him up suspiciously. How could he take it back? They shouldn't know, they couldn't freak out on Christmas. Marshall didn't ever want to ruin another one.

"Well, if he says he likes you, wouldn’t that usually mean, he does?", she asked, adopting the wrong-right pronouns effortlessly.

Marshall swallowed hard. "He?" _Just drop it, homo, you ain't foolin' no one._

"Did you tell him back?", Lainy asked. "You can be really short spoken about stuff likes this, that's what mom used to complain about."

Marshall frowned. "I told her often enough. It won't get better if you say it every five minutes."

Hailie sighed audibly, shaking her head. "Guys, no sense for romance."

"Dad, a relationship needs a little effort, you know, from both sides", Lainy explained. "Watch a couple rom-coms."

He crinkled his nose. That wasn't a pleasant way to spend movie night. "We watched the new Tron, that's better." Besides, of course he knew relationships needed work. What they thought he had done with Kim all this time?

"I doubt that", Hailie said. "But whatever, he probably has as bad a sense for romance as you. Probably is for the best. What did you two really fight about?"

Marshall bit his lower lip. Why didn't they say anything? They kept using the wrong-right pronouns. Shouldn't they say something? "This ain't much of a Christmassy topic."

"It would be, if you had a date for Christmas", Lainy pointed out. _Damn! That's daddy's little girl, how she lives and breathes. I'm gonna tear up._

Marshall grumbled. Instead of answering, he poured himself another glass of fake bubbly grape juice and drank it. Not that it helped.

"So, what did you do? What was the fight about?", Hailie pestered on. "Maybe we can come up with a plan to get you two back together."

He cocked his head. "Who says I want him back?" After the fight, why would he want Nicolas back? Nicolas didn't care about him and Marshall didn't need a person like that in his life. _But you need his dick in your ass, slut. You know that, I know that, everyone knows that._

"You don't?", asked Hailie surprised. "I thought you liked him."

"Why not?", asked Lainy similarly puzzled. "You seemed happy with him."

Marshall shrugged slightly. "I do - did … This really ain't your business, though." This was his life, not theirs. He didn't want them to meddle in this, the same way he didn't want other people to meddle in his life, either. Even less them, kids shouldn't take care of their parents, that wasn't how things ought to be.

Hailie snorted annoyed. "You owe us an explanation, Dad. After the other night, you owe us."

"I don't owe you anything. I said enough about that", he grumbled. Probably he did owe them more of an explanation than he had given until now, because he hadn't really given them any. What was he to say about that night? He was a terrible person.

"No, you didn't", Lainy insisted. "But we know anyway."

"I wanna know, too." Whitney looked between them confused.

He petted her head. "There ain't nothing to know, Sweetie Pie."

"You cheated on him, didn't you." Lainy looked at him sternly.

Marshall sighed quietly and sat down on the couch. Of course they knew, everybody knew. Apparently nothing about him could ever be secret. "So what? Ain't like we gonna live happily ever after."

"Why do you do this to yourself?", Hailie asked commiserative. "It's exhausting to watch, it must be grueling to live, isn't it?" _Preach girl! See, even your daughters are sick and tired of your shit, bitch._

She wasn't wrong, but he wouldn't admit this to her face. "Myself?", he asked back defensively. "He broke up with me, for your information." Why were they talking about this at all? He should get them back to decorating the tree. But the look on their faces was serious and stern, not a festive mood at all. Great, he was ruining Christmas again. Fuck.

"'Cause you cheated on him", Lainy exposed the problem and knitted her brows. "What other choice did he have? Ignore this and get more hurt by you? No, you did this and you need to take responsibility for it."

Marshall growled abrasive. "He would've, that's how much he cares: nothing. Not enough that this'll hurt him. A break-up just makes sense like this. There ain't anything for you to fix, stop trying."

"There's everything to fix", Hailie disagreed sharply. "But what do you mean, he would've?"

"He didn't care", Marshall explained, getting angry again just thinking about Nicolas's words. "He didn't care what I did. He would've just went along with everything, that bastard."

Lainy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "So … he knew you cheated and he still wanted to stay with you? Then why did you guys break up?"

"He sounds like a saint to put up with your BS." Hailie sat down next to him. "Or maybe a moron."

Marshall growled low. "He's neither, just a jerk."

"But what did you guys fight about?", asked Hailie. Her voice tried to sound sympathetic, but she got tired of him evading an answer. "I mean, if it wasn't about mom and if it wasn't about you cheating, then what? What else is there?"

"It's complicated", Marshall wanted to deflect. _You ain't complicated, slut. You want his dick in your holes, you want all dicks in your holes. Only thing complicated about you is, you can't wait for them to take turns. _Mostly, because he wasn't all that sure. Nicolas was a bastard and they had broken up, that was the result of the fight. That was enough to know.

Lainy snorted disbelieving. "I call more BS. It's not complicated, you just don't wanna deal with it. Didn't your Doctor tell you, running away isn't a solution? It's only creating more problems, everyone knows that."

"Exactly", Hailie agreed. "How you gonna get a good relationship going, when you won't find out what happened with the old one? You need to face your mistakes, if you want to improve. That goes for sports and school and, also, relationships." Her words sounded too smart, Marshall didn't like it. Why was he getting schooled by his own children? No.

"You guys wanna be my therapist now?", he asked sarcastic.

Whitney climbed on his lap and hugged him. "We want you to be happy, Daddy." Damnit, she was too cute and too good at pulling his heartstrings. "When Nicky likes you so much and you like him, too, then … Isn't that good?" She knew exactly how to play her childish naïveté to her advantage, he saw right through her.

"Sometimes that ain't good enough."

Annoyed, Lainy shook her head. "What more do you want?"

"That's not it", he dismissed. _Since when is more not your problem, fag? You always have to up the ante._

"Then what, Dad?", asked Hailie. "You like him and he likes you, that's a great basis. You cheat on him big time and he forgives you, that's a hell of a lot. Why break that up? I mean, you were happy with him, right? I really don't get this. It all sounds really easy to me."

Marshall stood up from the couch. This was getting too tight. "Don't mean it is. And in any case, it's not as rosy as you picture it. He shouldn't just forgive me like that. It needs time and effort, not a shrug and just throwing it to the side. This is pretty basic, don't you think? If he can just shrug something like this off like no big deal, then he doesn't really care enough in the first place." He looked at them and folded his arms in front of his chest. "I don't care how often he says he likes me, that obviously ain't true."

"Oh my God", Lainy threw her hands in the air exasperated. "You're the worst, Dad. You two didn't really fight about that you two didn't have a fight? Tell me, that's not true. That's the dumbest thing."

"It's not dumb", he refuted, "He should care enough to fight about it, that's what a relationship is."

Hailie shook her head and sighed disappointed. "No, it's not. It's what you and mom always did, but that really wasn't much of anything. Sorry to tell you that, but you don't know much about relationships, Dad."

"But you do, or what?", he snarled. What did she know about relationships? She wasn’t even fifteen yet, that still was five days out. _She ain't wrong though. You don't do relationships, never have. You're a slut, you fuck, that's all._

"Luckily, I have friends with parents in functioning marriages, so yeah, I know a little." She shrugged briefly. "And even if not, we saw you two being miserable for years, that can't be how things work."

"And it isn't", Lainy chipped in, "With Philipp I do the opposite to what you did and that works out well so far."

Marshall frowned. "You're just being mean now. I don't have to listen to this." But his exit was halted by Hailie hugging him.

"I'm sorry, we don't mean it like that." She looked at him with empathy. "I'm sure, it's hard to change and to listen to all of this. But it's just, you and mom were really bad to each other and it was so obvious. We don't want you to go through the same thing again. You're our dad and we want you to be happy. But if you keep doing the same thing, that probably won't happen. We think that's really sad and we really want to help you, Dad."

Marshall sighed deeply and couldn't help but to hug her back. "I'm trying to change", it just was really hard to do. He knew, what he and Kim had been wasn't good, but he didn't know how to do better. Or what he did know, he couldn't put into action. Cheating was bad, yet he kept doing it. "It just takes a while for the therapy to work." _You don't really believe, you can change, do you? The sooner you accept things, the better. You're a horny bitch, end of story. _But he was changing. He was sober now, that was a big fucking change.

"Of course and that's okay, nobody's perfect", Lainy agreed with a short hug of her own and gave him a reassuring smile. "But I think, we can say, even without professional help, that having a fight about not having a fight is pretty dumb."

"It's not dumb", he insisted.

Hailie sighed quietly. "It is, Dad. If Nicky-"

"It's Nicolas", he interrupted her. If they all kept using the wrong-right pronouns, they could just as well use his real name. There wasn't much of a difference anymore, was there. _Oh, now you see it? That was a long walk for your slow ass. _This nickname was stupid and horrible anyway.

"If Nicolas", Hailie started her sentence again, "Likes you so much, that he forgives you, especially without much of a fuss, then there's not a reason to fight. You should stop cheating on him and feel lucky he likes you so much. That's not a reason to break up with him, you know."

But Marshall was stubborn on this. "I didn't, he broke up with me."

"Did he say that?", Lainy asked. "I mean, if he forgave you already, why would he break up with you? That doesn't make sense."

"Because he's a bastard?", Marshall suggested.

But Lainy asked: "What did he say, exactly?"

"I don't need you analyzing me", Marshall grumbled instead of an answer. "You're my teenage daughter, act like it, aight."

She shrugged unimpressed. "If you act like a responsible adult, sure, let's switch."

Marshall stared at her with slitted eyes, but she held the eye contact. "Well, he said, he doesn't care for relationships in the first place and … and he only did it to be nice … and, and that I'm too much trouble anyway. Does that sound, like he likes me? No, I don't think so." Nicolas had never said a nice word about him. Wasn't that a red flag? It had to be.

"Sounds like he's fed up with your BS, too." Hailie frowned pensively. "Guess, that's for the better, so he's human after all. Good to know."

"He's a jerk, that's what it sounds like."

"Or", Lainy interjected, "Or he's a bit like you." _My thoughts exactly! You're both dirty bastards, just get with it and get it on, fag._

Marshall looked at her confused. "What? I ain't nothing like that!"

"You sure?", she asked. "I mean, you aren't all that serious about relationships either, not even your marriages and that should be serious, right? But even if you like your date, you still cheat - Don't think, we don't know. We're not blind, you know. So …" Lainy shrugged, not quite sure what to say next. "And you like excitement and get into trouble with that, he's not really wrong there. Maybe", she suggested, "Maybe he didn't mean it as bad as it sounds?"

Marshall muttered a curse under his breath.

"You should at least try, don't you think?", Hailie asked hopeful. "Like, talk this out properly. It's bad enough to split in a fight, but it's really bad to split in a stupid fight."

Lainy nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Exactly. Text him and tell him, you're sorry and we'll go from there."

"I ain't texting him first, forget it." Marshall shook his head strongly. Nicolas should apologize first, he had said all those nasty things. "He broke up with me, it's his turn. Besides, he knows I'm sorry for the cheating, I don't need to text him that."

"You're sorry about the fight, Dad, that's what you need to text him."

He shook his head. "Nope. No, that ain't my fault."

"First", Lainy counted on her fingers, "That doesn't matter. Second, yes it is. Now, text him."

"Right now?", he asked.

"Yes, now", both his daughters said in unison. Whitney already handed him his phone from the coffee table. "You can do this, Dad. It's Christmas." A big grin shone on her face to cheer him on.

Marshall sighed. Did he really have to do this? "Fine, whatever", he mumbled and started typing. He read out loud: "I'm sorry about the other day."

"Nope, try again", Hailie shook her head. "You need to put a little more effort into this."

He rolled his eyes and typed anew: "I'm sorry the fight got a little out of hand."

"Nah, again", Lainy shook her head. "If you want him back, you gotta push yourself. Be humble."

He groaned annoyed. What did they know? But he typed anew: "I'm sorry I blew up like that, you didn't deserve it."

"That's better", his daughters agreed satisfied. "Send that and let's see what happens."

Marshall already knew: Nothing.


	48. I'm Not Wishin' To Be Another Fish In The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Sunday before Christmas, afternoon: Whitney and her best friend want to bake some cookies, the mom has a soft spot for Marshall.

And he was right, more than four hours later and no answer. Somehow it felt like they were breaking up all over again, just sadder. _You gon' break out into a ballad now, little gay looking boy?_

He put his phone back into his pocket and stood up from the couch. Whitney was already clamoring down the stairs to open the door. Her best friend Claire was here. He hadn't fully stepped into the hallway yet, and the two girls were already flying past him. "Whoa, careful. No running in the house!", he yelled after them.

Their laughter and a disregarding "'Kay, Dad!" was very telling. Something would be broken at the end of today, hopefully just a glass or some porcelain or whatever. He could do the last Sunday before Christmas without any broken bones, to be frank.

Marshall reached the door and greeted Claire's mother. "Come on in." He took her coat off and hung it on the coatrack. "I get the hunch, we gonna end up doing most of the baking." A hunch he'd had since Whitney asked if her friend could come over.

"Probably so", she agreed with the French accent she had. "Thanks for having us over. Merci. I know you're a busy personne." Blanche smoothed over the cottony dress she was wearing, a black and white pattern with a rather simple cut. Elegant yet understated, a good choice in Marshall's opinion. _Of course a fag like you looks at the dress. Check out that ass, that’s were it’s at._ "I'm glad you found the time, the girls surely love it."

He waved the observation aside. "It's nothing." His priority were his daughters. Inviting another family over, so Whitney could have all the fun while baking for her school, of course he said yes. He didn't want to imagine the tears if he'd said no. "Today's all for Christmas preparations, you know, the tree is up and decorated, now baking some cookies, maybe later I can sneak off and wrap the presents, that sorta thing." He lead her through the house toward the kitchen.

"Like I said, you're a very busy personne", she said with warm jest in her voice. "Can I steal a peek? S'il vous plaît? It's one of my favorite things during the holidays, looking at other people's trees and décorations."

"You mean, judging other people's trees", he answered amused. "Only if I can see yours." _Let's see something else, homo, get some skin in the game here._

Blanche obliged with a smile on her bright red lips and produced a digital camera from her purse. "Bien sûr, that goes without saying." Possibly an answer to both.

So, Marshall showed her the tree. He even turned the lights on, so it could shine in all its glory: colorful and sparkling, a bit of joyful chaos to it all. "Well, what you think?"

Blanche shot some photos of it. "I expected it to be taller, honnêtement … But it's very brillant and playful. - Comme toi", she added with an insinuating smile. She weighed her head thinking. "I give it a light to strong eight."

"Why taller? I don't want a tree I need a ladder for." That was more hassle than it was worth.

"Un argument", she agreed with a smile. "A different one is, that you have a high ceiling, why not utilize it?"

"Well, we did one Christmas", Marshall explained, "But it was one hell of a bitch to get the decorations on and off the tree. That takes all the fun out of it." He wanted to enjoy this time of year and not for it to turn into labor. "Now, yours."

She pushed a few buttons on her camera and, standing close, she showed him the display. Her tree was indeed taller and the decorations had a defined color palette, only red and silver. It appeared very orderly.

"Looks like straight out of a magazine", he said. "From an aesthetic point of view it's probably a nine? Yeah, I give it a nine. But from a more fun point of view it loses a lot, you know." He was sure, this tree hadn't been decorated by children, absolutely not.

"If I let my children have fun with it, they décorent the living room but not the tree and only half of it anyway", Blanche explained the tradition at her house. "They have more fun with the présentes."

Marshall smirked briefly. "Don't they all. Come, the cookies don't bake themselves." He already had prepared the kitchen for their baking session: wrote down an easy, tasty recipe for the cookies, made sure all the ingredients where present and the baking dishes were clean and ready.

"You're going all out on this, non?" Blanche asked surprised as they entered the kitchen. "Do you need to make up for something? Don't tell me you forgot to buy your girls présentes and this is your apology. C'est mauvais. Let me tell you, it won't work."

Sheepish he rubbed his neck, but a low laugh escaped him anyway picturing Christmas Day without any presents and the shocked faces. Now he could laugh about it, because it was only a joke, not reality. "Nah, it's just … Whitney's all excited about it?" He wanted to do this right for his little girl, that's all.

Blanche smiled warmly at him. "Tu sais", she leaned over and whispered non-whispery, "I'm really glad it's your turn this time. Not to speak ill, but the prowess of Kim’s ... en artisanat didn't generate a lot of confidence in her cuisine." She put her hands up defensively. "I know, I know, to cut out pumpkins and skeletons from paper is not the same as to cut out biscuits, but still."

"You ain't just good at judging Christmas trees, Madame Lemaire", Marshall couldn’t help the grin on his face. "Her cuisine is … Let's just say, she won't win any prizes." He handed her an apron, after all Blanche wasn't wearing a dress, where splashes of flour or frosting added flair to the look.

"You really think of everything. Thank you, merci." She unfolded it and put it on.

He went to the kitchen door and called out for the girls: "Whitney? Claire? We're starting!"

"Euh … A little aide, please?", Blanche asked trying to tie the knot in her back and demonstrably failed at it.

"'Course, just a sec." He made sure, the ribbon wasn't twisted around her slender waist and tied the knot in her back. _Mon chérie! I bet she'd wear just the apron. French women know how to turn your head. _"You want it in a bow?", he asked as a joke.

She stroked the dark brown braid from her neck. Her hair was almost long enough to reach her hips. "That sounds lovely, why not? Très bien."

That he had brought onto himself now, why had he asked? But he tied her the bow, a little lopsided. "Well, that won't win any prizes, either."

"C'est bon. It's okay", she assured him as she turned around. A brief kiss on his cheek and a thumb striking over the same spot. "It's made with amour, that's always perfect."

"Uhm, okay then?" A little embarrassed he had trouble looking at her face, that his eyes travelled down to her revealing neckline instead wasn't helping. _Disagree, homo, get your face in there. You don't see a hot mom like this too often._

There was giggling at the door. The girls stood there, snickering at each other and whispering into each other's ears. "Better we leave you two alone?", Claire asked with a grin that wasn't as innocent as it should be at her age. She didn't have an accent, French or otherwise.

"Viens ici", Blanche told her daughter and beckoned her to come over.

Whitney came on her own and grabbed the new cookie cutters off the table to show them off. "Look, a unicorn. It's so cute." Claire squeaked accordingly.

"Oui, it is very cute, indeed", Blanche agreed. "We'll be making the cutest biscuits of all."

Marshall handed her an apron with a flowery pattern for her daughter as well. "That's the plan: Sweet and cute unicorn cookies and I thought, we could also make some hearty muffins." He tied Whitney's apron as well. It said _Daddy's Princess_ on the front, which was all too true. As he tied his own, only for a split second he thought back to Ryan and the stupid joke. This was just kitchen etiquette!

"I was wondering about the cheese." Claire examined the ingredients on the table. "Which is fine, I guess, but spinach? Ew, that has no business being in a muffin."

Whitney shook her head vehemently. "My dad's spinach muffins are amazing, you gonna love them. I swear."

"That sounds delightful." Blanche's lips curled into a chirpy smile.

A little embarrassed again somehow, Marshall mumbled under his breath, they should start. Now, that everybody was outfitted correctly and their clothes were protected from what he expected to be a giggling storm of flour and eggs and frosting, their baking project was in session.

Of course they started with the unicorn cookies. The girls were enthusiastic to splash about in the mix of flour and milk and eggs until the dough gained strength. But that was what Marshall was for and not for long, the dough was rolled out on the table and the girls cut all the unicorns and hearts and rainbows and stars they could wish for. They tried to one up each other with the frosting, which colors to use and how thick to make it and how high the mountain of sprinkles should be. When all the cookies were done, the girls kinda looked like a pair of cookies themselves.

Throughout it all, Blanche didn't really help with the backing itself, but she had a better hand with the frosting and her tips for color combinations was excellent. Just as important, she took pictures non-stop, all the pictures. A habit of hers which Marshall already had profited off a few times. Their daughters were very cute together and Blanche always shared those pictures with him.

Marshall nudged Whitney's nose with a speckle of frosting on it. "Careful or I might eat you instead."

"I'm not a cookie, Dad", she informed him, trying to look at him serious but she had too much fun with her friend to be serious now, a grin crept in regardless.

"You're as sweet as one", he explained. "Go, wash up before you play, aight. I don't want you running through the house like this."

Claire threw a suspicious look at the spinach. "And what's with the muffins?"

"Your mom and I'll do that." With a look to Blanche he confirmed that she agreed. "You girls helped a lot. Those unicorns gonna be the best cookies tomorrow, no question. You earned yourself some playtime now." He didn't want them to get bored or niggling 'cause baking turned into a chore for them. Rather end, when they still thought more would be fun. The girls would learn soon enough, that even fun things turned into a chore too easy. "But wash up first, you hear?"

Whitney gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Sure, Dad."

"You two make a good team", Claire explained pleased. "I bet, making muffins will be a breeze."

"I think so", Marshall agreed.

Claire grinned wide at him and hugged him, too. A whisper in his ear: "Mom loves a guy who can cook. Don't screw this up." With that, she took Whitney's hand and the girls hurried out the kitchen.

Marshall looked after them a little puzzled. What was he screwing up? _The usual, bitch. Now's the perfect time to get your dick wet and screw this MILF. Even her kid wants you to! Fuck, don't be stupid, slut._

"You're very sweet with them. Très gentil." Blanche had propped her chin up with a hand and watched him closely. "Claire likes you quite a lot."

He stood up and busied himself by cleaning up the table a little. "Well, they're sweet too, so", he shrugged.

"Oui, oui, they are." She leaned forward a little. "So, spinach muffins, how did you come up with cette idée?", she asked.

"It's not mine", he answered honestly. He could follow a recipe, didn't mean he could come up with one. "I found it somewhere and thought it sounded good." He didn't like his food too sweet. "Turns out, the girls like it."

"I heard." Blanche nodded amused and came around the table. Her perfectly manicured fingers picked through his hair. "You have sprinkles there … You want to become un biscuit licorne yourself?", she asked. Her bright green eyes looked at him joyous.

Taking a small step back, Marshall ran a hand through his short hair. "Uhm … I'm already too much of a unicorn, don't need any more of that."

Blanche laughed softly. "You are quite unique, very true." She still stood very close to him. "You know, what is said about them? They are animals sauvages et gracieux and only a virgin can tame one."

"A virgin? Hm, never met one, so proof's still out on that, I guess", he answered. At least not that he knew. With like 95 percent certainty, he was sure Kim hadn’t been one, despite her young age when they had started dating. She’d been fifteen, but she’d known what she wanted from him. Any girls he had met in clubs or as groupies surely hadn’t acted like virgins, either. This was for the better, having a virgin in bed didn’t sound appealing to him. _Then get on her, fag. She definitely ain't a virgin, tell you that much._

"Do you need to be tamed?", she asked curious. _Oh, you can tame me whenever you want!_

He sighed and turned back to the table and his task of baking some muffins. He grabbed a bowl and started on the dough. This was a good way of distracting himself and maybe her as well. "Didn't Kim spout off about me? Thought, that's one of her favorite passed times." Because of his schedule and his tendency to cause commotion everywhere, she spent more time at school activities and with other parents than he did. He tried to be there for his girls as much as possible, but more often than not he ended up in the spotlight and that just ruined the day for everyone. Usually this meant, first impressions of him were kinda bad, that he didn't show enough interest in his daughters and that he'd been one hell of an awful husband to Kim, who got her side of the story out early. And his music and public image probably didn't help matters.

Funnily enough, Blanche was one of the few parents in his daughters' circles to look behind the curtain. She'd always been open and friendly toward him. Maybe, because she wasn't from here?

"She did", Blanche admitted and leaned casually against the table, watching him work on the flour and eggs. "But divorces can be messy and painful, neither side is really crédible when they tell the story. Je veux dire, I know all the bad things I said about mon ex-mari while the divorce was happening and that wasn't all fair. So, it's probably not all fair what she says as well."

"Oh, right", Marshall looked up from the dough. "You, too, I totally forgot."

A brief, musical laugh and she bumped her shoulder against his. "You have your head in the clouds", she smirked amused. "Besides, you're great with the children. I can't imaginer you as a bad personne when you're couvert in pink sprinkles."

Marshall chuckled quietly at the thought and by impulse ran his hand over his head again, not that he still had some there. "Perhaps that's true. Though, that ain't all there is, is it. Things are always more complicated."

"Oh non, you're telling me you're a personne aux multiples faceted? Mon Dieu", theatrically she gripped her chest. "And I thought, you'd only had deux réglage: great dad and bad husband."

"And successful rapper, don't forget that", he added jokingly. "So I have _trois réglage_, that's multi", he showed three fingers to emphasize the number he meant. With her accent and charming smile, Blanche was lots of fun to talk to. She always added in French words and phrases and it was tempting to do the same. If only he knew French. "Seems like a little much, don't you think?"

Blanche picked her camera up again and took a couple photos of him. This close it probably was all blurry and with a bad angle. "Eh bien … From what your daughter reports, you abandonné the husband-part completely. So, that's un réglage less."

"She said that? Why?" That was surprising.

"Is it not true?"

He weighed his head. "Kinda … It's complicated." He mixed the spinach with the dough of his muffins. _Shut up, bitch, get your dick inside her, that ain't complicated. What's with your horny pussy today?_

"Dating with children is always compliqué", Blanche agreed. "And, for your peace of mind, she didn't tell me, she told it Claire. And Claire is très évidente about it all. Ever since her father left, she's strangely excitée she'll get one of her friends as a new sibling. How she came up with cette idée, I'm not so sure."

That explained her comment earlier. What a relief! "At least, she's okay with it. Could be very different pretty easily." He was very glad, his daughters took the divorce quite well, both times. Probably because it was easy to see, how things just didn't work out. "My girls are little busybodies, too. Just today I got lectured on how to accurately break up with someone - and also, that I shouldn't so easily. As if they know."

Blanche smiled understanding yet entertained by the story. "So, you have someone?", she asked interested. "Une petite amie?"

"Not really", he shrugged. "We're broken up. I'm … I'm not good at _petit ami_, you know. Whatever Kim says about me is probably more true than is good for me. So, you can imagine things are a little difficult."

Blanche smirked and elaborated: "Kim said, you were keeping a harem. Honnêtement, I can't really take her sérieux."

"She really said that? Huh, that's new." Amazing how she still found new ways to talk bad about him. He didn't give her creativity enough credit sometimes.

"You're not angry at her for saying something so bizarre?", she asked surprised.

Marshall shrugged. "Why? It's probably true in a sense. I mean, it's why I don't have a date for Christmas anymore, 'cause I cheated again."

"Sérieusement?", she asked and eyed him up from top to bottom. He felt rather uncomfortable under her gaze. "You don't really give off this vibe."

"What vibe?", he asked back. "What you mean?"

Her bright red lips curled at the edges. "D'un don Juan, d'un séducteur … It's not the way I would describe you."

What was that supposed to mean? "How would you describe me?", he asked, now curious. _How about: lame, dense, slow. Stop talking and start making out, that ain't hard._

One more time she examined his person closely. "As someone, who enjoys bonne compagnie and who likes to be close to the people around him … I'm not surprised you cheated on her, don't understand me wrong, I believe her. Just, the way I know you, you're caring and loving, not malicious."

"Huh." That was unexpected. Actually, that sounded pretty good. He could probably live with that. "Does that make a difference? If it's malicious or not?" The result was still the same and it still hurt.

"In some ways it does, in some ways it probably doesn't", Blanche answered and leaned forward a little. Their noses almost touched each other. "But I could never get you to flirter avec moi"

He blinked surprised. "Flirt with you?" _Fucking yes! That's what I'm taklin' about, fag!_ Did he understand that right? Why would he flirt with her? Should he have flirted with her? That seemed weird. She was the mother of his daughter's best friend, that wasn't a person to hook up with. There weren't many rules in his life he followed, especially not regarding sex, but not hooking up with parents connected to his daughters was a hard rule. That was no place to look for sex, under no circumstances.

Her bright red lips smiled kind and fond. "How Kim told it, it should've been the easiest thing in the world. Mais non, not even a wink, much less a harem." She gestured around the kitchen where, indeed, no harem was in.

Marshall breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God." After the night with Worick, he might be potentially flirting with everyone and didn't even notice. That was bad. But at least with Blanche he hadn't and she was a charming woman, no doubt. His daughter's friendship wasn't in danger because of him. At least something.

Slightly confused, she looked at him. "Normalement I hear that in a contexte différent."

"What? No, it's not - I just …" Marshall turned his full attention to her, leaving his dough be for the moment. He didn't want her to feel bad because of him. "You're an attractive woman, don't get me wrong, very attractive. I thought for a second I might've flirted with you by accident or something."

"How do you flirt par accident?", she asked.

Marshall shrugged. "I'm asking myself the same thing. But apparently, it's a skill that I have, for better or for worse."

A questioning look in her big green eyes.

"Happened a few days ago", he explained. "I thought we just had a nice conversation and stuff, until we made out and I was told, I'd been flirting all night", he shrugged still unsure how that had happened. "I had no idea. Even if I don't do anything, I cheat. It's horrible." _If only! Come on, slut, you're better than this. I've seen you flirt with girls before, it's bad but workable. And she's already hot for you! Just take her, right here right now._

She kissed his cheek again, softly. "You are a man of contradictions, Marshall."

"Am I?" He stroked over the spot she had just touched.

"You have your head in the clouds, at the same time you're intensely focused. It's quite charmant.", she explained. Then, a pause for a moment and more serious she added: "It's not really my place to say anything, but if I could share some réflexions?"

He nodded agreeing. "Please, share away." Not that he wanted advice, but he probably should be glad about anything he got. He had a problem, he needed to face that. Hearing her opinion on it couldn't hurt. He couldn't fuck things up more than he already had.

"Eh bien", she started slow, collecting her words, "Organizing exhibitions I come in contact with a lot of artistes, n'est-ce pa, and one thing I learned over the years is, that certaines personnes … Le grand art comes from a spécial place, not everyone has access to it, but this also means that those who do … Simplement, you sometimes have to accept that they're différents. Organizing exhibitions is stressful either way, but if I try to press l'artiste into my own schedule, nothing will work. I have to give them their liberté to do things their own way, that's where their art comes from. Tu comprends? Whenever I hear Kim talk about you, she seems to … I don't know all the details, évidemment, but it sounds like she wants you to be a certaine manière and … Bien sûr, that backfires with regular people, but with artistes, it cannot work that way. Sometimes you can only accept, that the other personne est différente. And either you can live with it or you can't, but you cannot change it."

Marshall frowned at her words. "That's bleak. You mean, I'm doomed to be a cheating bastard 'cause I'm good at rapping? That's awful." Being alone forever wasn't a prospect he was thrilled about, absolutely not.

"Non non", she shook her head forgiving. "You are the person you are. You may better yourself, but you cannot change who you are. No one can. The person you are, however, gives you une énergie créative that's not often found. That's spécial and précieux. It's worth protecting. But it also means, that a relation cannot work with someone who doesn't accept this. From the bits I heard, Kim, she doesn't seem to see this."

"No, she don't", he agreed with a low voice. With a sense of defeat, he fell onto a chair. "You kinda sound like Nic- … uhm, the_ petit ami_, you know." Hadn't Nicolas said something similar? That he wanted Marshall to be himself, that he liked him the most then? Maybe, that wasn't a lie.

Blanche sat down next to him. "Is that a bad thing?"

He sighed deeply. "I don't know. We had a huge fight and I went off and … I probably made things worse for myself, like usual." _Fag, please! Really? She has the hots for you and all you do is whine about some dude? Fuck this, I'm out!_

"What did you fight about?", she asked.

"About that we weren't fighting, maybe." He rubbed a kitchen towel over his face and cleaned his hands. Maybe this was as dumb a fight as his daughters claimed it to be. "I cheated, like big time cheating, just awful, but" Marshall looked at her. Would she freak out? She always been fair to him. It'd be easier not to lie. Did it matter anymore? "He didn't say anything, nothing. He knew, but not a peep. And when I called him out on it, he said he expect me to be this way and … and that I'm my own person and that … that what I do and what he wants, that it ain't the same thing, maybe it doesn't need to be the same thing … I mean, that's what you just said, ain't it."

She nodded slowly, thoughtful. "In a nutshell. Sounds like he's trying hard to be with you."

"And I blow him off like that!" How could this keep getting worse? "I'm even worse at this than I thought." This was so fucking frustrating.

Blanche squeezed his hand reassuringly. "We're all bad at this. Now that you know, you can try and better yourself. Perhaps you can get him back? Un petit miracle de Noël."

"But how?", he asked despaired. "Only thing I get is radio silence."

"Oh, you tried to apologize already?", she asked a little surprised.

Marshall sighed. "The girls made me do it. But no answer. It clearly didn't work."

Blanche perked up. "Laisse-moi t'aider. Together we'll come up with something good, don't worry. What did you do so far?" She was primed for action.

"I send a text to apologize", he explained. Marshall took out is phone from his pocket and read: "I'm sorry I blew up like that, you didn't deserve it." He looked at her for judgment.

"A text message?" She tilted her head. "That isn't very romantique. A call is the least you should do."

Marshall shook his head. "He's deaf, calls ain't no good."

"Deaf? Oh, hm … Can you send une vidéo?", she asked. "If you can't call, that's the next best thing, oui? And if you send something in sign language, that shows l'effort et l'engagement. Can you sign?"

"A little, but … You think, that'll work?" He was skeptical.

She grinned at him. "You don't have much of a choice, n'est-ce pas? What do you have to lose?"

Marshall sighed. That was much too true. "Okay, fine. But what should I send? The apology didn't work, signing that won't make much of a difference."

"Repairing a fight is not all about excuses", she explained. "When mon ex-mari cheated on me, it wasn't excuses I wanted to hear or why I'd forgive him, but that he cared for my feelings. 'I'm sorry' is said easy, but to really show that you love someone, c'est un travail difficile."

Marshall groaned low. Difficult? If his marriage with Kim taught him anything then that this was impossible. "How you do that?"

"With something d'intime. A message or a gesture that only you know, that is spécial to the two of you." For a moment she thought about this and then asked: "How did you meet?"

He shook his head. "In a motel, that's no good."

"Un motel? Eh bien, I'm sure you two did something more romantique than that?"

"I don't think so? Maybe when we went to the lake house, but that was practical more than anything." What had they done at all? He shrugged.

Blanche looked at him expectantly. "Allez, réfléchis. There's something you two did or have that's spécial. I mean, you want to be with each other, that doesn't come out of nowhere."

Sheepish, he rubbed his neck. "It's more … a physical kinda thing, you know?"

"Eh bien, we'll work with what we have. Spécial est spécial. It has to be something that shows him, that you know him, that you appreciate him being at your side. Perhaps if it's about cheating, you could choose something that you want only with him, that makes him spécial pour vous." Her index finger tipped against his chest.

For a second, he just stared at her. How was Nicolas special to him? How was he special to Nicolas? He didn't know. _My adorable slut_, Nicolas's words echoed in his ears. "Fuck, I got it!" Excited, he kissed her thanks and hurriedly left the kitchen. He needed his laptop and the book if he wanted to sign this.

With both things in hand he came back into the kitchen. "I gonna need your help filming it."

"Bien sûr, whatever you need me to do." Blanche smiled at him and pushed the baking dishes aside for him.

Marshall typed on his laptop searching for the words in the dictionary and wrote down notes about it. Writing sign language was practically impossible, but he had come up with a set of short hands and symbols for himself. He wanted this to be perfect.

He sighed staring at his notepad full with scribbles. "This is too long, ain't it."

"Non, not at all. It shows, that you really care and that you thought about this long and hard. That's good. C'est bon." Blanche assured him and snagged the pad from him. "Let me see, what you got so far." While she read the notes she raised her perfectly styled eyebrows in surprise. Her eyes moved from the notes to him and back again.

Marshall grabbed it away from her and swallowed hard. "Ain't what you think, it's more … like, I mean … he's, uhm …"

"C'est bien. It's alright", she waved his nervousness aside. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. It's your relation, not mine. And I think, it shows. Ça se voit. That's important here, that it is about you two and not something everybody else would say."

He only nodded, still too embarrassed to actually answer her.

"Are you ready to film it?"

Probably best he forgot, that she read anything. "Maybe." No, he wasn't, but what choice did he have?

Of course, he had to film it about a dozen times until it was kind of watchable. He wasn't sure if his signing really was understandable, but he couldn't exactly ask one of his friends to spellcheck it for him. So, he just had to wing it. A thing, he hated.

With a trembling thumb he pressed the button _send_. The message was out now.

»I'm sorry for what I said, I said all the wrong things. I don't want to be the biggest slut, I just want to be yours. Because being your adorable slut makes me happy. If you really can live with me being this way, then I believe you. I rather have you angry than silent. I rather have you take a picture than ignore me. I rather have you be too nice than not at all. I trust you.«

His heart beat too fast and his lungs were too tight. What, if this wasn't enough?

A slim hand rested on his shoulder. "You made a très honnête and sincère impression to me. He'll know that you put your feelings into this. That's all you can do." Blanche smiled warmly at him, trying to calm him a little. "How about, we get your muffins done, enfin?"

A little distraction was probably in order, so Marshall nodded. "Yeah, sounds good. You wanna make the ones with mushrooms?" He put the laptop and notepad aside, so he could take care of the dough. Right, the spinach was already in there and so was the cheese. Fetching another bowl, he split the dough into half and gave one of them to Blanche. "I usually make one with bacon and one with mushrooms."

"Bien sûr, pourquoi pas. Why not? Sounds tasty either way." She mixed in the chopped up mushrooms, while he mixed the bacon into his half of the dough.

Would Nicolas answer this time? He sure as shit hoped so. Marshall sneaked a glance over to Blanche. "Thanks, like … for helping me and shit."

"Toujours." Another kiss on his cheek. "Always. I hope you two can work this out. Although, it's a pity you're off the market then." A playful wink.

He might actually blush a little. She's always been this flirty with him? "Uhm … Thanks? But I, uh, I don't usually date other parents. You know, 'cause of the girls and all that."

"Relax, it was a joke." Doubtful she examined the dough and poked at it uncertain. Baking didn't seem to be much her thing.

"Okay?" Should he feel relieved now? Maybe he should've paid more attention before, it was much of a compliment if an attractive and successful woman like her flirted with you. They always knew what they wanted and they didn't settle for less.

She smirked amused. "You sound disappointed."

"It's probably better this way", he admitted. Rather, he poured the dough into the muffin pan. Focus, Marshall, focus.

Blanche sat back in her seat and watched him silently.

And that exact silence crept up his spine. Only half done with his dough, he sat the bowl down on the table again and looked at her. "Stop looking at me."

"Pourquoi?", she asked with a flirty taunt in her smile. "It's nice to watch a man use his hands with purpose."

Shit. "Stop it, aight. You just helped me with, like, my relationship and shit, why're you …", he gestured at her, lost for the right descriptor. "You read it, that can't be - I mean, this's just-"

Her soft chuckle interrupted him. "You're really sweet, Marshall. Vraiment adorable. He's a lucky man."

"Not you, too", he grumbled embarrassed and focused back on his muffins. That was a hell of a lot safer than talking with Blanche. "You're a mean woman, you know that?"

"Oh mon Dieu", she gasped fake.

Marshall rolled his eyes. "But be honest. Like, you can freak out if you want, I can handle that."

"Why should I?"

"'Cause", he gestured to the notepad and the rest of his stuff he'd used to get the message for Nicolas just right. A rather telling message, all in all.

"Donc? There's much fun to be had in bed that isn't missionaire ou monogamie, no reason to judge." She cocked her head, eyeing him up. "Do you paniques about it?"

Definitely, he was blushing now, bright red like her lipstick. "It’s not a panic", he defended with a grumbled hush.

"Oh?", her voice sounded surprised. "Why?"

"Because …", he started and didn't know where the sentence was. Then, he shrugged weakly. "Kim always said I was wrong and disgusting and shit. I wanted to be good to her and, and I failed at something so basic. So, I think, I probably let myself get carried away on purpose. Wasn't a good move." But he didn't know how to flip back the switch. If there was one. Chances were, his ex-wife had nothing to do with this anyway,

Blanche leaned forward, her smile honest and warm. "Kim isn't a measure for satisfaction, not yours or de petit ami or whoever else you kiss. If it feels good to you, then it is good. C'est bien. That's something, you Américains lose sight of sometimes, I feel."

"Probably", he agreed.

"Come, let's get this in the oven. I can't wait to taste your muffins." Good idea, he really should finish this up already.

Marshall took the tray with the muffins and was about to slide them into the oven, when his phone beeped and vibrated. Jerking straight, the muffins almost fell out of his hands. "Fuck!"

Instantly, Blanche jumped forward and took the tray out of his hands. Questioningly she stared at him.

"That's Nicolas!" Fuck! He wouldn't mistake this melody ever. Shit! "I can't! What if he's telling me to fuck off?" His heart beat so hard it'd break his ribs soon.

"Eh bien, he isn't silent anymore. C'est une victoire."

He shook his head. "What do I do now?" He wasn't prepared for this! "What if he doesn't want to see me again? Ever?"

"If you don't read it, you won't know."

"Oh, I know", he was sure, absolutely sure. He'd been a total asshole to Nicolas, how could the man say anything else? "He hates me."

With a nod to the oven, she said: "If that's the case, we got something to eat our sorrows away with."

"This ain't funny", he snapped at her.

"Would you read it first? You can lose it afterwards still", she explained unperturbed.

Marshall fumbled the phone out of is pocket. The message only contained four words, but they brought a shy smile on Marshall's lips.

i trust you too


	49. I Apologize, Even Though I Know It's Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's December 22 and Marshall and Nicolas meet for their personal Christmas celebrations.

Steam clouded the bathroom. The air was warm and moist, just hard to breath. When Marshall climbed out of the shower, blackness crept around his view and he had to prop himself up against the wall. Dizziness swirled in his head. This always happened, when he stood under hot water for too long. Motionless, feeling the scalding water cascading down his body, listening to the sound of water rushing down. This was the right kind of noise to drown out his thoughts and the right kind of sensation to anchor his mind to the present. Something he needed right now. _Only thing you need, is a dick in your ass. Hurry up, bitch. I can't believe he fell for you again. What you give him anyway? Not your ass, not in a long, long while. How bad at being a horny slut are you? Unbelievable!_

Marshall sighed loudly and leaned against the wall. The tiles were cool and wet against his forehead, he waited for his sense of balance to come back. There wasn't more time to stay in the shower, to savor a little silence for his mind. He was nervous enough as it was, he didn't need his head to make it worse. But his head didn't listen to him. _Never, fag. You'd run this show to the ground, no doubt. Not on my watch. I get your ass laid. One of us needs to work for the greater good here._ Marshall doubted this sincerely. But with one thing his head was right: He needed to get ready. Now.

A moment longer and his vision came back to normal again, his circulation stabilized. He grabbed one of the towels and started drying himself off. He went back to the bedroom and when he stepped through the door, his eyes focused on the bed instantly. Not the bed exactly this time, but what was spread out on it. A sky blue dress. _GAY!_ What else was new?

This was the reason he was so fucking nervous right now. Nicolas hadn't minded him wearing a dress on Halloween and maybe now was different, but Marshall hoped tonight would also be okay. He wished for it. _What is he? A genie? Only wish he gon' make true is putting his dick in your hole. That's the only thing you're good for._ Over the last couple of weeks, Marshall had weighed up the pros and cons, ever since they had hinted at spending Christmas together. Uncertain, what gift to get the man. A book? Sure, but which one? Marshall didn't have much of an idea what books Nicolas liked or which ones he had already read. What if he gave him a book, Nicolas not only had read already, but also hadn't liked? That was a terrible gift in any circumstance, but in theirs even more. Marshall had to succeed. After all, they were in a relationship, they should know each other well enough for this. Making matters worse, he had cheated on Nicolas in the worst fucking way, he needed to make up for it. And then their break-up had happened and only barely had they mended their relationship. This second chance wasn't even forty-eight hours old. Fucking hours! Somehow a bad book was the least of his worries and yet the amplifier for everything going wrong. If you thought about shit for too long, you lost track of it all too easy.

Marshall's hand stroked over the soft fabric. Maybe this could show, how much he liked Nicolas. Of course he had bought a book for him, but that didn't feel like enough. He needed something more, something with meaning. Or as Blanche might say, he needed something special. First thought had been a song, that was the most special, most meaningful thing Marshall was capable of. But Nicolas didn't care for music.

He tore his eyes away from the dress and stepped to the window. The backyard and the beach stretched out beneath, snow-covered and serene. There was ice on the lake, but not thick enough to hold a person yet. Them spending Christmas here at the lake house felt surprisingly meaningful. Here was when it had first felt like they could mean something, like they could actually have something special, like they could be a real couple someday. Or at least the pretense of it all. _Don't fall for it, little gay looking boy. You know, he don't love you. Don't make this worse on yourself. Enjoy his dick and then cut him loose._ Marshall wanted to capture this feeling for tonight. To make them forget the break-up had happened. To repay Nicolas for how badly he had wronged the man.

Was all of this just his guilty conscience speaking? Marshall bit his lower lip and looked back to the bed, to the sky blue dress. He was trying to be special for Nicolas and maybe he would believe it? _There ain't nothing special about your horny ass, homo._ Possibly true, but Marshall would try regardless. He had to.

With his determination rising, he finished up with the towel and put on the dress. The soft fabric reached down to his feet. Looking into the full-length mirror of the closet door, he swiveled from side to side. The cut reminded vaguely of medieval times, a bit of decorative lacing across his stomach. Maybe he should've gone for the real corset? To give his body a nice curve and to hide some of the angular features he head. Across the chest was a pattern of snowflakes embroidered, white lines against the light blue of the dress and diamonds were sown into the geometric shapes. An unobtrusive yet striking way to highlight a bosom, to make an eye-catcher out of a cleavage. If he had one. A real corset would give him the hint of one at least. But Nicolas insisted, he didn't mean it in a feminine way and Marshall believed him. He wanted to be special for Nicolas, not be a woman. There was a difference. _You don't act different, bitch. This ain't even gay no more. Worrying about your boobs? Can't get more woman than that._

Marshall sighed. How tacky was it, to make himself into a Christmas gift? What if this wasn't a good present for Nicolas? It was a stupid, desperate idea. He fluffed up the hood that was draped over his shoulders, decorated with white faux fur, as were the hems of the sleeves. They widened at the end and flowed airily with every movement. Around his elbows were white bands with silver accents as visual separation, as wide and airily as it was around his wrists, the fabric was tight around his upper arms and hid absolutely nothing about his muscles. He wanted … No, he needed Nicolas to know, that his bickering about shit like this didn't mean anything. Probably, he himself needed to internalize this as well, but that wasn't much his strength. He liked the names Nicolas had come up with for him, he truly did. _Of course a little gay looking boy like you likes to be called a princess and a kitten. Pussy. You're a grown-ass man, act like it._ It made their connection feel more real and more warm. As if Nicolas truly thought about him, when he said those names, even if Marshall was too embarrassed to hear them.

Then he took the belt from the bed and put it on as well. It hung low on his hips, broad and white with silver accents and the geometric pattern imitated the shine of ice crystals. A long band reached down the front to his ankles and gave more elegance to his appearance. Again, he looked into the mirror and shook his head. "This's too much", he mumbled to himself. He was barely half done with his outfit for tonight, but he was already overdoing it. Nicolas had never said anything about liking skirts or wanting his partners to have a feminine vibe to them. How was he thinking, this would be okay? _Just go naked, that's how you gonna end up anyways, slut. Why make such a fuss about clothes? Only thing important is, how fast you can lose them. Although, maybe if your ass looks good, it might work as an ad._ With a critical glance to the mirror, he studied his backside. Nicolas deserved the best Christmas Marshall could give him and this was all he had: himself. It wasn't much, he knew.

Marshall took a deep breath, but calm didn't come to settle in. If there was one thing he had learned over the course of his life, then that the scarier a thing was, the more important and the more rewarding the end would be. If he made it to the end. Just because he liked to dress fancy sometimes, didn't mean his boyfriend wanted to see it. Just because Nicolas had fucked him in a skirt before, didn't mean he wanted to do it again. Why were all his ideas stupid? Just once Marshall would like a good idea or a clever one to pop into his brain and make his life better for a change. But no, not out of his cracked marble. Another glance at the full-length mirror, the dress looked back all sky blue and white and shimmering with diamonds and silver accents. Did he want to step in front of Nicolas like this? Would Nicolas want to see him like this?

Yes. No. Maybe. Please check the box.

Another sigh, probably not the last for tonight. It wasn't even Christmas yet, only December 22nd, too early to be this corny and too early to have a mental breakdown. Then again, it would be their Christmas and wasn't that all that mattered?

His stomach rumbled, tightness coiled his insides, but Marshall ignored it. He sat down at the dressing table and pulled the small mirror closer. The face looking back was … weary, to say the least. Would his idea work out? He didn't mean to use pompous make-up tonight, but he hadn't done a trial run. What if it was too bland? What if the colors didn't match as well as he'd thought? What if he messed it up? If this didn't work out, there was no plan B. He put the first light brushes on his face, but his hands trembled. "Shit", he mumbled and tried to shake it off, but it didn't help, the tremor stayed. Marshall might've never been this nervous in his life before. Which, looking at his life, was hell too nervous. Standing on stage for the very first time to rap, people booing him just because - fuck, he'd wanted to puke. His stomach had been one tight knot of nerves and angst, exactly as it was now.

A ring screeched through the room and Marshall jerked up with a shriek. "The hell?!" His heartbeat jumped into overdrive. A terrified glance to the alarm clock near the bed, was Nicolas early? But the ring kept sounding. Not the doorbell but his phone. "Fuck!" Marshall jumped up and ran down the stairs on bare feet. That was the alarm he had sat for their dinner. He hurried into the kitchen. A panicked look into the oven, but the casserole seemed fine. One of the foods that didn't need much attention while cooking, but didn't mean you could forget all about it. Multitasking was anything but his strong suit, he was a man of singularity. Now, he put some aluminum foil on it and turned the temperature down. This should keep things warm until they could sit down to eat. His phone was still sounding the alarm through the house. Just as hasty he hurried back up into the bedroom. He wasn't at all done with his make-up. Not fucking close! He turned off his phone and sat down again. He would never make it in time. His lungs begged for air like after a two-hour set, not because of physical demand, only because he was losing his mind. What if Nicolas was coming early? What if he really didn't make it in time? What if he messed it all up and had no time to correct? What if he couldn't do it? Marshall wasn't ready for this! Fuck, meeting Dre hadn't felt this awful. He could've peed himself back then, so nervous had he been. His heart had fallen through the floor and he had forgotten how to blink. Exactly as it was now.

Worse, he just wanted to die. _Pff, you never go through with it, pussy. Always half-assing your shit. How often you'd been almost dead? Half a dozen times or so? Yet, here you are, alive and kicking._

"I can't do this", he muttered to himself. Wide, panicked eyes stared back from the mirror and with the pale face he could've been part of a horror movie. The girl, who had seen everybody else die and she was next to go. The slut always died.

Okay, he had done those things for real back in the day. Puked on stage. Peed his pants. Didn't bode well for him now. He should just abandon this stupid idea. Clean his face, get out of the dress and into some comfy sweats. A cozy, low-key evening sounded much better. He should text Nicolas and blow this off. This was too much for a relationship on the brink of breaking up. Christmas was for family and loved ones, way too much pressure to start a second chance with.

But Marshall shook his head. He wasn't one to back down, regardless how stupid or crazy the idea was. He always pushed through. So, he took the brush again, his hands still shaking but he put the paint on his face, nervous but deliberate and focused his mind on his goal. With every new stroke his movements became more steady and more sure. The more he saw his idea come to life, the more he was certain this was the right thing to do.

_You would say that, little gay looking boy - or should I say girl? Why even keep your dick? You ain't using it. Better turn it into a second hole, wouldn't that be a dream come true? More holes for more dicks to fuck you_.

When his skin was all white and smooth like fresh snow, when his lips were sky blue and glossy, when the white lashes sat firm and like feathers on his eyelids, when light blue snowflakes danced down one side of his neck, when an expanse of white blonde hair fell in soft curls onto his shoulders, when his clavicles were decorated by a necklace and the pendant of a snowflake made out of diamonds sparkled in the light, when the tiara was set in the wig, a half circle of clear icicles on top of his head; when all of this was done and Marshall looked into the mirror again, he could't help the smallish smile. This time the face looking back was pretty.

A rush of excitement flooded his bloodstream. He couldn't imagine Nicolas not liking this gift. On Halloween, the man had seemed quite smitten with the costume, eyes glued on Marshall all night and when they had touched, there'd been a certain reverence in the other's hands. Besides, he was calling him Kitten because of that costume, so at least the man would appreciate how Marshall made his words come to life like this again. Not the man, his boyfriend. Why was that the only half affectionate thing he called him? Only in his thoughts, too. Nicolas managed to call him sweet nothings just fine. Using names like that, there was intimacy inherent in the act, Marshall instinctually recoiled from. Often, a cold shiver ran down his spine whenever he thought about calling Nicolas something sweet. Also, it didn't seem to fit him. Hopefully Marshall could show his gratitude, even if these kinds of words were hard to say. Maybe they hadn't been serious before, but this night, this second chance was a huge step into real couple's territory. And a small part of Marshall wanted to go down this road, even if he didn't deserve it.

Now he could only wait for the doorbell to ring and hope for the best. While he waited for Nicolas - his boyfriend - to arrive, he kept busy by cleaning away the make-up and tools. His bedroom should look presentable, just in case. Marshall didn't know if his boyfriend wanted to sleep in the same bed has him after everything that had happened. Maybe this was too much too soon? Him doing things wrong, because he didn't know better. Maybe this night was to be a tender rekindling of their relationship? A hug and a lot of words, not much else. Of course he hoped for more. He missed the soft touches and fond kisses, the warmth that easily spread through his body whenever they were together, the tingling in his ears whenever Nicolas spoke, the tense heat that one look from those unreflecting eyes could bring over him. But he knew, he'd enjoy every moment with Nicolas, whether or not they ended up in bed. It was Christmas after all.

The ring of the doorbell echoed through the house. Marshall jumped from the chair and hurried to the bedroom door, but halted midway. He looked over to the clock next to his bed: 8:08 PM. Yes, this must be Nicolas, on time as well. "Ah shit", he mumbled and grabbed for his shoes. How could he have almost forgotten them? White high heels, plain and functional. No question, there were other, more inspired choices possible for an outfit like his. More snowflakes and ice crystals all around or the heel could look like an icicle itself. Fashion was wild. And he liked shoes, mostly indulging in Nike sneakers. Now he slipped his feet into the white heels and looked himself over in the full-length mirror one more time. A cautious smile appeared on his lips. This was very close to his idea. Elegant and classy, but with a few eye-catching highlights. Pretty and dainty, but not afraid that he would always be a man. Maybe, this was exactly how he could face Nicolas after everything Marshall had done to him. For everything he would continue doing to him. He liked being with Nicolas, hopefully this could make it clear.

He adjusted the tiara, just to be sure.

Another ring of the bell. "Coming!", Marshall called out and hurried out the bedroom. But the stairs had him stymied. He could walk on heels well enough, but running down the stairs on them? He'd break his legs for sure. Ruffling his dress up a little, he slowly walked them down and it took too long. The white stilettos clacked with every step.

Downstairs he halted in front of the door and smoothed out his dress again, checking the drape of the hood as well. He breathed in deeply a few times. Hot excitement curled over itself with every exhale. This was it. There was no turning back. His hand shook lightly, when he turned the knob and opened the door. "Hey …?" His pitch was too high.

Stunned, that's precisely Nicolas's reaction. The hand waving a greeting halted midair, his eyes widened in stupefaction and stared at Marshall, as if someone had cast a spell on him. Possible that he didn't even breath, he didn't blink, just stared and mouth half open.

Marshall swallowed hard. "Uhm … Hi?", he repeated, still his voice was too high. He cleared his throat, but didn't believe it worked. Instead of failing with his voice again, he smiled a little crooked and gestured for Nicolas to step in. Right, Nicolas couldn't hear him anyway.

His boyfriend followed the gesture and came in but didn't turn his gaze from Marshall. At least the hand finished its greeting and sank down again, but the eyes very much roamed over his dolled up appearance. Clearly the other appraised him from head to toe, taking in the tiara on top of the blond wig and the snow white make-up with the blue lips and the straight lines of a male body the dress didn't even try to hide. Disbelief and astonishment.

Fuck, had he overdone it? Marshall bit his lips, feeling the lipstick burn. No, this wasn't rejection, but surprise. Rightfully so, he wanted this to be a surprise for Nicolas. Still, this felt a little awkward. What should he say? Wasn't there a joke he could butcher? What was the correct protocol anyway? Since when did he give two cents about protocol! Marshall had never been one to do things subtle, why would he start now? »Merry Christmas …«, he bit the smile away. There it was again, the internal shudder because he wanted to say something sweet. What would he say anyway?

Life came back into Nicolas's body. First, a small smile curled around his lips and then the duffle bag fell to the floor. He raised a hand to Marshall's face, almost touching but not quite, his warmth always perceptible. Most important, Nicolas leaned up and softly, fondly kissed Marshall. Only their lips touched, lightly moving into each other and savoring the feel of the kiss. Savoring that this kiss happened at all. Intently feeling that they had each other back.

The door closed with a low thud.

Nicolas stroked a white curl from Marshall's cheek. »Merry Christmas, Ice Princess.«

Relief in his heart, Nicolas understood. With a bright smile he signed again: »Merry Christmas«, why couldn't he use one of those words? Even if he could, none of them would fit Nicolas. »Come in«, he offered and gestured to the living room area. A few lights, wreaths and figurines of the season decorated the room. He had even bought a little plastic tree for the coffee table, it wasn't Christmas without a tree. His two presents for Nicolas lay ready for the giving next to it, also a bowl of unicorn cookies. »Right, the cookies, I saved you some«, as he had promised what felt like a lifetime ago.

After another long look at Marshall, Nicolas turned to the living room and entered the house for good. He snatched a cookie from the bowl and inspected skeptical the pink and green unicorn. It was a horrendous color combination, but Whitney loved it to death. Nicolas ate it without complaint. His gaze halted on the gifts, the tags read his name in the staccato style writing Marshall had. »Two?«, Nicolas asked.

Marshall shrugged. »Only one's serious, the other's more of a joke. You'll see.«

A little sheepish Nicolas rubbed his neck. Was he embarrassed? That was new. »It's okay. I kinda have more than one myself, actually.«

That had been their agreement: They would meet for Christmas a couple days early, so Marshall didn't need to rush anything with his daughters; and each would give one gift of moderate monetary value. Marshall had insisted on this. But apparently, they both had stretched this agreement a little.

At least Marshall definitely had. His gift was not of moderate value, the book was a collector's item and those things could get out of hand pretty quickly. On top of that, presenting himself in this costume was also a gift and he had made real people labor over this for it to be perfect tonight. Marshall didn't do shit half-assed.

Nicolas went to his duffle and took out two wrapped packages to put them next to the little Christmas tree. »You wanna sing a carol or something?«

Skeptical, Marshall knitted his eyebrows. »Do I look like I sing Christmas carols?« Well, except for with his daughters, of course. That didn't count though.

Nicolas grinned and gestured toward Marshall, toward his outfit.

»Just take yours and open them.« Marshall's fingers fidgeted with the lacing of his dress. Hopefully the book was the right one. Wasn't it rushing things a little, to go straight to the unwrapping of the presents? This was supposed to be a romantic evening, not a transaction. Maybe they should've met yesterday, even only for a few minutes as a way to acclimatize after the break-up. After how things had ended, they couldn't jump right back to normal. A couple words via text didn't undo a fight.

»Didn't you say, you cook us something?«

How did he forget this twice? »The oven did most of the work«, he deflected. As he went into the kitchen, he heard Nicolas's steps following him. In the kitchen, he pulled the casserole out of the oven and put it on the lightly decorated table. Marshall was relieved that the sauce still bubbled, meant this wasn't all briquettes yet. So his little maneuver had worked, it was still perfectly edible, probably. Glad though, he had decorate the table beforehand, just a nice tablecloth and some greenery in one corner for the ambiance. Now, he lit the candles and beckoned Nicolas to sit down.

Dinner was served.

The shit-eating grin on Nicolas's face provoked a grumbled "Stuff it" from Marshall. Yes, he had arranged a fucking candle light dinner for Christmas for them. So what? He wanted their night to be perfect. 'Tis was the season for kitsch and schmaltz.

To Marshall's relief, Nicolas didn't say anything, he just sat down and started eating. So did he, the first few bites he analyzed closely. A casserole was hard to screw up taste wise, another reason why he chose to make it tonight. Throw some noodles, a few veggies and a sauce in it, sprinkle an ungodly amount of cheese on top and you have a meal. Easy peasy. It could've used a little more thyme, though, but it wasn't bad this way.

Sure, he was distracting himself and it was a poor attempt. Something didn't feel right. Of course he had racked his brains around what gift to get for Nicolas and what dish to serve and how to embody the nickname perfectly. So much so, that he had totally forgotten to prepare something else, something way more important as it turned out: What the hell should they talk about? A feeling of déjà vu. Normally he might've gone to the movie as a starter. They had seen it not even a week ago, that was recent enough to not feel like he was grasping at straws. But that was also the day of their break-up and Marshall didn't want to bring it back up again. He was glad for the second chance and maybe they should talk it out properly, surely they should. Texting that they trusted each other wasn't much making up, he knew that. But wouldn't that lead to more fighting? That's usually how things went for him when he tried to sort out a fight, it only created a new one. Not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be nice and romantic. Couldn't they pretend to be a normal couple? The last time in this house had worked great like that.

How about Nicolas's cat? Too random. It shouldn't be obvious that he didn't know what to say. How his daughter had baked the cookies? Nicolas had ate one, that was a good anchor. But he would have to include Blanche in the story and how she had helped with the apology and how she flirted with him a lot, apparently. Not the best topic tonight. How a very attractive, fashionable woman flirted with him wasn't making a fight go away, he knew from experience. No need to add fuel to the fire. What else? There had to be something else. What had they talked about before the break-up? Had they even talked? Most things Marshall remembered from the top of his head weren't words, but kisses and hands and the feel of Nicolas's hard dick in his mouth. How? Only a small amount of time had they spent fucking, so why was it the first thing that came to his mind? He really needed to address this in therapy sometime, this couldn't be normal. They had exchanged so many texts over the course of a few weeks and mostly unrelated to sex. But Marshall couldn't figure out for the life of him what they usually texted about. His brain turned into a white noise machine.

»Don't you like it?«, Nicolas asked with one hand. Something Marshall still had trouble with regarding signing, it usually was a two hands job.

However, he shook his head surprised. "Why? Is it bad?" Didn't Nicolas like it? He shouldn't force himself to eat something he didn't like, not on Christmas, makeshift or otherwise. This was a bad beginning for tonight.

»It's good«, Nicolas assured him. Somehow, Marshall didn't believe it. »But you aren't eating. Is something wrong?«

Sheepish Marshall looked at his own plate and indeed, it was full with food. He really couldn't do anything without attracting attention to himself, could he? Terrific. Why not put a sign around his neck: Bad at humaning, keep away. He shrugged with his shoulders. "Nervous, I guess." Very much so. After all, the stakes tonight were high.

Nicolas put his knife and fork down to use both hands for signing. »You don't need to be.«

"It's just", Marshall fumbled for an answer. What could he say without igniting their fight again? What should he say to make this night perfect for them? Was it even right to sweep this under the rug? He pushed the plate of uneaten food away. "I feel like I need to promise you, shit like that won't happen again. That I should say, I don't normally do this and that it was an accident. Like, what people say when they get caught, but …", he smiled crooked at Nicolas, "That ain't true." He didn't make promises he couldn't keep. So much worse, he didn't actually intend to keep this from happening again. "Really, I …"

»You don't have to«, Nicolas interrupted him. »You don't have to promise me anything and you don't have to make up excuses. I don't dictate your life, that's your choice.«

Marshall shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you, I really don't. But I will, I know I will. It'll happen again, it's just a matter of time and, I mean, that ain't fair." The God honest truth was, they shouldn't be sitting here right now trying to make this work, because it couldn't. He would cheat again, that wasn't a basis for a relationship.

A smirk on Nicolas's lips. »Life ain't fair. Don't mean it's not fun.«

"You said you trust me. How?" Marshall had been delighted to read those words, especially to have them as an answer to his apology, but they didn't make much sense. He had betrayed Nicolas, that wasn't anything to trust.

»Because I do.« A serious look in the black eyes, intently focused on Marshall. »Your heart's in the right place, that's worth more than a promise born out of guilt.«

Insightful words. But who lived by insight? "So, you really don't care if I sleep around?" Marshall couldn't help it, this thought hurt. There was a sting in his chest and he knew, what it meant. He was getting too close.

»I care«, Nicolas signed with emphasis, »I care about you a lot. That's why I'm here. But you have to live your life how it's right for you. Same way I keep living my life my way.«

Marshall frowned deeply. "You're fucking around, too?" He couldn't imagine Nicolas doing that. Or was this why he was so patient and waiting so long for them to engage with his kinks? Because he didn't need Marshall? A cold knot formed in his stomach.

A slight smirk at the edges of Nicolas's mouth. »You're jealous?«

Caught, Marshall leaned back and folded his arms in front of his chest. Maybe he was pouting, but he wouldn’t admit that.

»I mean my job.« Nicolas took his fork again and speared some of Marshall's cooling noodles to eat them. »I see it sometimes, how dating people from the outside doesn't work. They want you to go legit, they're scared and disgusted - rightfully so. Something always breaks, it's either you or them.«

Marshall looked Nicolas over, silently. Spiky black hair and unfeeling eyes with shadows underneath. A void in this blackness that felt dangerous. Thin lips often distorted into an eery grin. Broad shoulders underneath the black t-shirt, nondescript but uncaring about the appearance. Muscular arms Marshall knew were fucking strong, scars on the forearms visible. Hands that talked, but were rough to the touch and rough to their victims. "Yeah, can't see you pushing papers."

»Looks like torture.«

"Totally." Wouldn't be for him either, but that wasn't really the same.

Nicolas speared some more noodles onto his fork and held it up to Marshall's mouth. »Feel better now?«, he signed with one hand.

Puzzled, Marshall stared at the food for a second. The fork wiggled invitingly. "Maybe." He snatched the bite from the fork.

Nicolas smirked. »How about, we leave this for another time? Tonight's Christmas, let's pretend we're just like any other couple. Like, getting all romantic and cozy together and world peace is a thing. Okay?«

Marshall laughed quietly. "Sure, what's a little delusion between you and your lover?" Not a solution, but a tempting idea. Probably, this didn't have a solution other than breaking up for good. Not an appealing thought and not a thought in the spirit of this night.

»Good. Did you have fun baking with your kid?« Nicolas picked up more noodles and held them up to Marshall again.

"Tons of fun", Marshall answered and took this bite as well. Snorting about himself, he then picked up his own fork again and pulled the plate back closer. He could eat by himself, thank you very much, he was a grown-man after all. A man all decked out, but a man nonetheless. "She had her friend over and the kitchen was a mess afterward, but they loved it." Did Nicolas really want to talk about Marshall's girls? Hardly, but he could pretend anyway. "Turns out, her friend likes my spinach muffins after all. The bake sale went great, too, we got rid of everything. Unicorn cookies are a hit, I tell you."

»You went to the bake sale?«, Nicolas asked surprised. »Isn't that boring?"

Marshall shook his head. "Nah, it's fun. I mean, it's exhausting having a bunch of eight-year olds running around, no question. But it's hard to mope around when there's all this fun and laughter around, y'know."

»Probably.« Nicolas smirked at him. He put another heap of noodles on his own plate. »You can be rather silly, guess that fits well. Best to have fun with it. At least the cookies are … Let's call it colorful, shall we.«

"You're supposed to eat 'em, not hang 'em on your wall", he grumbled around cheesy noodles filling his mouth. Having some color in your life wasn't a bad thing.

»I did, was good.« Was that a joke or a genuine compliment? Nicolas's constant smirking in his otherwise serious face didn't help.

Well, they wanted to pretend to be a happy couple tonight, then Marshall could just as well pretend it was genuine. So, he smiled behind another fork full of noodles. "There's dessert, too." A dark chocolate pudding stood in the fridge, hopefully it'd be equally well received. A little sibling rivalry, so Marshall's theory, had prompted Hailie to want to cook with him as well. Or maybe it had been a thinly veiled disguise to check out how things went with his relationship, she had asked an awful lot of questions.

»You really thought of everything.« Still hard to decide, if this was serious or playing him. Although, happy couples were allowed to tease each other.

What was he doing? Cracking jokes with his friends, even at his expense, didn’t bother him. Why this? If as a joke or meant genuine, it wasn't a bad sentiment either way. No reason to fret over. He should just enjoy spending time with his boyfriend, not second guess himself at every corner. "Yeah, I mean … sure." Fuck man, he wasn't this lame!

Untroubled by this awkwardness, Nicolas kept eating his food. Lucky him, just enjoying a nice heap of cheesy noddles at a Christmas dinner, looking his dolled up boyfriend in the face. No trouble at all.

He was wearing a fucking tiara! Lord, how did he come up with stupid shit like this? At least he should've told Nicolas to dress a little fancier, a t-shirt and cargo pants clashed violently with Marshall's admittedly over the top dress. As usual, he hadn't thought this through much, at least not where it counted. What was more embarrassing: If he stayed like this for the rest of the night as planned, or if he gave in to the awkwardness and changed out of it? Okay, Nicolas didn't hate the outfit, he couldn't make that argument, otherwise, he probably would've said something. But tolerating and liking were two different things. Then again, to his relief, Nicolas understood what he was trying to say. The kiss wasn't only accepting the dress, but also an affirmation that Marshall's apology was accepted as well, all his apologies: for the cheating and the fighting and his bitching about normal shit. He wasn't a good boyfriend, but he tried and Nicolas accepted this. Despite all he did wrong, Nicolas still liked him. Maybe he even actually liked him, not just this pretend liking until they inevitably had to end. Who knew. Was it impudent to want that Nicolas also liked this side of him, too? Probably so. Marshall wasn't even sure if he himself liked this side of him much. Though, the memory of Nicolas's head under his skirt, that was worth a lot of embarrassment. Since when did he care, if he was impudent or not?

Nicolas's fingers snapped in front of his face. »Still nervous?«

Self-conscious, Marshall bit his lips, fully aware of the lipstick. "Just thinking."

»About what?«

He shrugged. "Stuff. I, uhm … I don't usually do this, like any of this." This was the worst kind of nervousness, the kind that distracted you from everything else. He hated it. This night was supposed to be enjoyable, but he didn't know how to get them there. Or more, the enjoyable thing he couldn't get out of his rambling mind seemed inappropriate for tonight, for them. Presenting himself like this, thinking about the warm kiss just moments ago, of course he wondered if Nicolas found him attractive, found him … alluring. He wanted to be enough for Nicolas, all kinks included. It wasn't fair of his thoughts to circle around that, when in the weeks past Nicolas had worked hard for them to get to know each other, to form an actual connection beyond just fucking each other mindless. Marshall wanted that, too, and the memory of their nice weekend here at the lake house whispered into his ear, he could have both: nice and hot. But he didn't believe in it. He knew, he wasn't much help in growing their connection. As much as he wanted Nicolas's niceness, he wanted his hot touches and even hotter thrusts more.

But tonight … Wasn't tonight only for them? A romantic date between lovers. Marshall had so many questions about every word in that sentence.

Nicolas smiled smallish, sympathetic. »Neither do I. But isn't that a good thing? Doesn't it mean, we let ourselves in for real instead of just reeling off the same shtick as always?«

"Maybe", Marshall agreed hesitantly. Wasn't that exactly the crux of the matter? It wasn't all fake anymore, somewhere somehow something real had stolen into this thing. Small, but it was there nonetheless. That's why they tried a second chance at all. That's why a promise of niceness hung in the air and that's why Marshall made this pledge to Nicolas of being his Ice Princess, at least for tonight. Even though he full well knew, this was a lie. "But it also means, it's more frightening, too. It's potential to be devastating is far greater this way, right." When he fucked up again, what would that mean for them? Nicolas wanted for Marshall to live his life how he saw fit, but then he wouldn't ever change.

»I don't know about this type of stuff, relationships and all that, but … When I fight, the harder it is, the more important it is and also the pay off is higher. I go with the same assumption now.« Nicolas pushed both their plates to the side, quite literally clearing the distance between them.

Marshall swallowed hard. They were here to be closer, not to have more things stand between them, even just dishes. But wasn't he the one who stood between them? "I know what you mean, I do the same when I rap. The more you need to push, the better it'll be. But, I don't know, with people and relationships it's different, ain't it? The stakes are so much higher." It was tempting to hide his hands under the table, but he didn't. He wanted to be with Nicolas.

Across the table they held hands. It was good to feel the other's kin, his warmth, the press of fingers and the soft stroking by his thumbs. The embarrassment was part of the cozy feeling. Only they would know about this. They could share being awkward with each other together, because tonight was just for them.

"I don't think it's different", Nicolas said, his dark voice soothing. "It's the same: You fall and get hurt, but you stand up anyway and move forward. Only thing different is, that a flesh wound is easier to heal."

"Exactly. Shouldn't you be more careful, then, with this other shit, when it's hard to mend?" Should he even get into this, when his other shit wasn't fully healed yet? When he didn't even know what it was that was so broken? There was only so much you could do at any given moment and to do all of these things at the same time, it was overwhelming. He didn't know which way to turn. There was still so much with Kim that ate at him, and he couldn't ever imagine a time when his best friend not being here wouldn't hurt, and that he felt like his mother - most of his family really - hated him wasn't helping, that any criticism often had him ready to fight 'cause he only knew how fists followed harsh words like that, and him cheating all the time wasn't fixed yet, and that he fucked around too much was a problem he didn't want to go way, which was a problem in and of itself, and that he was gay and liked to wear dresses maybe was okay but there was still so much tension in him. Sometimes he felt like the ground was falling away from him and Marshall had nothing to hold on to, no one to keep him from falling off. He was afraid to hit the bottom again. Afraid, this time he might not be strong enough to keep going. Afraid, he would only ever be broken. He wanted more from his life than that. He wanted a life.

Nicolas's hands squeezed his encouragingly. "You have to move forward. You can't lay down and play dead. That won't help, for sure it won't."

Marshall sighed. A hard lesson to learn, life didn't stop. "True that. Yet … If shit like this goes wrong, it ain't a flesh wound, it breaks your neck." You could only be so lucky to survive that and his luck had to be running out fast. Looking how his life had been, all his luck had to have been used up by now and he had stolen some more. Could he ever heal up enough? Maybe he had lived through too much pain in his life to ever make a good relationship. Maybe he was too late. He didn't want to hurt Nicolas this deeply.

"Then we'll have to protect your neck", Nicolas smiled confident. He leaned forward over the table and kissed Marshall lightly, a hand gently stroking his neck, fingers tangling in the blond strands of the wig. A reassuring gesture, that Nicolas would protect him. Even though, he needed protection from Marshall.

Tentatively, he smiled back. Trust beat in his heart, that Nicolas would keep his word, that his boyfriend would protect him. Regardless his threats of breaking Marshall open and turning him into a beautiful mess of pain.

Then, Nicolas stood up. »Come, take the pudding and we gonna conquer the couch. You got presents to open.«

»So do you«, Marshall reminded him and stood up himself. »Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.« Meanwhile, Marshall cleared away the dishes and the leftover casserole. Moving his hands through this tension and having a purpose helped with the nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn't useless. Insistent he shooed Nicolas out of the kitchen. They would have a nice evening and maybe pudding was all that mattered for the moment. He could conquer his emotions, as long as there was something productive to occupy himself with. Instead of dwelling on his feelings, on his weakness toward them, he fetched two small bowls and filled them with the dark chocolate pudding. He sliced up some strawberries and cherries to put them on top. Maybe he didn't know what a good relationship was or how he could make this into a romantic date or if he could ever find peace being only for one person, but he knew how to enjoy pudding. So, he brought the dessert into the living room.

Nicolas was lounging on the couch, looking at him expectantly. His black eyes locked in on Marshall, as he walked in, and travelled over his form. The lighthearted grin even reached the eyes and brightened their usual gloomy look.

A picture Marshall would love to see more of and he returned the smile. Maybe Nicolas liked this outfit a little bit after all. He sat down next to his boyfriend and they ate the treat. The pudding had turned out quite tasty, if Marshall said so himself. The bits of fruit contrasted their freshness with the dark chocolate well, a good choice. The sweetness still tolerable, instead of overpowering all other flavors.

Nicolas put his empty bowl down first. »So, you wanna sing now?«

Marshall rolled his eyes. "I ain't gonna sing for you", he muttered around the spoon in his mouth. Wasn't like Nicolas could hear it, and besides, he couldn't sing in the first place.

»But that's part of the tradition, isn't it.«

"Just open one already", Marshall huffed. He leaned over the coffee table to the edge with the small tree and their presents. He reached for one of them and shoved it against Nicolas's chest. "Here you go." He licked more pudding of his spoon and watched his boyfriend.

Who, of course, smirked once more. But with a shrug, Nicolas opened the present. He wasn't careful with the wrapping paper and just threw it down on the floor. This revealed a wall calendar with a kitten theme. A soft laugh from Nicolas and he pecked a kiss on Marshall's cheek. »Thank you.« He browsed through the months and the pictures of baby cats in all their cuteness. A kitten in a tea cup or another in a hammock, a baby kitten trying to roar or a ball of kittens cuddling each other. They were fluffy and cute and this softened some of the serious lines in Nicolas's face.

Despite all his nervousness and that he had doubted every detail of this evening, Marshall now was glad he had gotten it. Bought on an impulse and though his impulses often gave him trouble, this time was different. The small laugh and the softer expression in his boyfriend’s face was absolutely worth it. Nicolas seemed to like this little thing and Marshall liked to see him smile.

»Thank you«, another kiss, this time on his lips. »I'll hang it somewhere nice.«

Marshall nodded pleased. "You better do." Still spooning the last bits of his pudding into his mouth.

»Now, your turn«, Nicolas prompted.

"Just a sec." He scraped out the last of the pudding. "You want some more?", he asked standing up and reached for Nicolas's bowl on the table.

However, he didn't get far. Nicolas yanked him back onto the couch, almost on his lap. He grabbed the dishes from Marshall's hands and pushed them across the table, pushed them out of reach. »You're not the maid tonight, but the princess. Act like it.«

"But-", was his immediate instinct to talk back, instead Marshall bit his lips. He probably needed to freshen up the lipstick soon. Nicolas was right, though. This was supposed to be a cozy, festive evening for them as a couple and not a lesson in housekeeping. »Okay then, give me my present«, he asked.

Nicolas handed him one of the packages, but kept sitting close with him. So close, the sides of their bodies touched and Nicolas put an arm around Marshall while he watched him.

It was easy to open the gift at the points where the scotch tape hold the wrapping together, no ripping or tearing needed. Nicolas hadn't been very diligent about it. Then, Marshall held a carton in his hands with a picture of Darth Vader and the writing _Ice Mold_ on it. He snorted with laughter, there existed things in this world … But the laugh immediately died in his throat. Star Wars was anything but their all time favorite conversation topic, on the contrary far from it. It had never come up between them until that day at the movies. The day of their break-up.

Surprised and dumbfounded he looked to Nicolas. "Uhm …" He wanted to ask, if Nicolas had extra gone out yesterday to buy this. Was this a last minute gift? Hadn't he bought anything before their break-up? Had he thrown away the presents because of it? Why emphasize this awful day of all things? So soon after it all had happened, only a couple of days had passed and it was already a joke? Marshall kneaded his lower lip between his teeth and looked at the box again. On the face of it, a lighthearted gift. Now he could make ice cubes in the form of Darth Vader's head, that was objectively funny. But he only felt like his throat was strangled. A force choke.

Marshall flinched a little, as the arm around him hugged him closer.

»Relax. You think too much.«

"I'm sorry." His fist drew a circle across his chest. "I'm so sorry."

»I know.« A short kiss between them, a hand softly stroking his back. »Stop worrying so much«, Nicolas signed.

If only Marshall could. "I'm a scumbag", he sighed woeful. He didn't deserve Nicolas's forgiveness. Why was he so nice? Even if he loved Nicolas, he wouldn't be faithful. He didn't want to be, if he was honest. Whenever he imagined a life like a normal person, with one partner and one partner only, he felt longing in his chest but also misery. To wake up next to the person you loved, the person you fallen asleep with the night before, the person you trusted dearly; all that he wished for and missed often when he woke up alone. There was no denying his life had lonely moments and he longed for sharing himself with someone. But to only have sex with that one person, to never waver when someone else hot and sexy walked by, to say no when lust invaded your being fully and that one person wasn't there, when somebody else was much better for it … How could people believe that to be fulfilling? Marshall wanted to enjoy his life, not for distress and despair to rule over him any longer. He was slowly crawling to a point, where things were better. Not how he dreamed of things to be, but a situation he could live with. A serious, faithful relationship would undo that.

"You're my Ice Princess." Nicolas stroked a strand of white hair behind Marshall's ear, a tender touch on his cheek.

A shiver flitted across Marshall's neck and he hesitantly, sincerely smiled back. "Yah", he agreed. He wanted to be Nicolas's, if he was honest. A silent wish, that he could love this man the way he deserved. His throbbing heart told him, he was close already, allowing himself to be more open and more true with Nicolas than he had been in a very long while. And it felt good. But would it be enough? »I have a real present for you.« For the briefest moment he leaned over the table to get the second gift for Nicolas, but nestling back into his position at his boyfriend's side immediately.  
As careless as before the wrapping paper fell to the floor and revealed the book. It was old but in excellent condition. _The 120 Days of Sodom, or the School of Libertinage_ by Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade. Quizzical Nicolas shot him a look and browsed through the pages with the text centuries old, but this edition also showed illustrations.

»I thought, you might like it«, Marshall defended his choice. »You know, with all the reading you're doing and, I mean, we haven't really done anything kinky, yet, so … Like, that's where the word comes from anyway, right.« He shrugged unsure and his fingers fidgeted with the lacing of his dress. It seemed like something Nicolas had interest in, but maybe that only revealed what bad of an opinion he had of the man. Had he a bad opinion of him? Nicolas had lots of great qualities: He was thoughtful and headstrong, he had humor and vigor, he knew when to speak and when to be silent, he wasn't afraid to be himself and he wasn't afraid of new things. Maybe Nicolas wasn't a good person, but was Marshall one to talk? His own lyrics weren't any less sexually violent or with a weaker murderous intent than what one presumably would find in this book.

Nicolas tauntingly raised his eyebrows. »You want to do this?«, he asked and tapped a page in the book, the stylized illustration of a woman and a knife slicing her breasts. Artistic undoubtedly, but disturbing nonetheless.

»What? No! I just meant-«

A kiss interrupted him. »Thank you. I'll be thinking of you when I read it.«

Was that a good thing? Marshall nodded in response because he didn't trust his brain with words this evening. Ever since he had opened the door, he kept saying stupid shit. »I should put these in the fridge«, he pointed to the ice molds and stood up. Keeping his hands busy had worked before to calm him a little. »Maybe we can have Darth Vader for breakfast tomorrow.« They could put ice cubes in their drinks or maybe he poured some juice into the molds to spice things up a bit.

»Sit down«, Nicolas ordered and pulled him back onto the couch again. »You're not getting your Christmas gifts like this.«

Promptly, Marshall looked over to the last package on the table. It was a flat box, about the size of two palms side by side. More Star Wars? Please no. »I already got one, that's enough.«

A skeptical look. »You don't want your gifts?«

Okay, if he said it like this, it sounded stupid. »I mean, we said only one«, Marshall defended. »Besides, isn't like I really deserve them, from you anyway. That you're here at all is much of a gift already.« Of course it was only something stupid you told your kids, but the fact remained: Marshall hadn't done anything for his name to go on the nice list this year. Why should Nicolas give him a present? Even more than one? They had just started a second chance, the break-up and the fight very much Marshall's fault. He had cheated on Nicolas in the worst kind of way, on purpose and with passion, arguably with better sex than what they usually had. Another thing why he didn't deserve to be on the nice list, Nicolas didn't get much out of the effort he put in. The promise of their sex to be great was high, but they barely had time to explore it. Only once had they tried something Nicolas liked, everything else only a quickie to take the edge off. That wasn't enough justification to call themselves a couple.

The black eyes looked at him unblinking, the warm shimmer of the season disappearing inside.

Marshall bit his lips a little more. »It's like, can't we just sit here and enjoy the evening?« He wanted to do this right. He needed to show Nicolas that he appreciated his presence fully and completely, not just the sex they could have. If he jumped his boyfriend now, he'd be only refused again. Not a feeling he wanted to repeat or it might fuel another fight. After all, if he wasn't pretty like this for Nicolas to want him on his own, what did the want from him at all?

»You know«, a taunting grin settled on the thin lips, »As a Nicolas myself, I have some sway about this. Santa and I are like this.« He crossed his fingers to illustrate.

»And I know the Easter bunny.« How stupid did he think Marshall was? He was blue-eyed but the blond was always fake.

A thoughtful nod. »I'll keep that in mind. Now tell me, why wouldn't your name go on the nice list this year? Maybe we can work something out.« A hand lightly stroked over Marshall's arm.

»You know why.« Marshall huffed.

Nicolas shook his head and used his voice: "Obviously I don't. After all, I brought you gifts for tonight." One arm still around Marshall's shoulders, while his other hand stroked further down Marshall's body and found a way to the lacing. The fingers played with the bands and softly stroked over Marshall's stomach like this. "But you don't want them. That's not very nice of you."

"I want them", Marshall objected, a tingle in his ear. Nicolas was an unfair bastard to use his voice like this. "But I don't always get what I want." Warmth started to curl in his stomach, where Nicolas's fingers brushed over the sky blue dress.

"You're my Ice Princess", he said stretching the vowels just a little too much. A loving kiss on Marshall's ear. "I give you everything you want."

Marshall kneaded his lower lip between his teeth, feeling the remains from the lipstick, but sure the abuse had smeared some of it. "Don't", he whispered. Marshall had a hard time managing the emotions that welled up inside him. He wanted to believe these words, wanted to enclose them in his heart, wanted to treasure them for hard times. The fingers touching him softly and gently made his skin prickle and all he wanted was to enjoy the anticipation of more. But he couldn't keep this one thought at bay: Nicolas deserved better than a shameless slut like him. "I'll take everything you have - and more. I'm selfish, that's not very nice … or princessly." Calling him a princess sounded pretty and peaceful, like they were in a fairy tale and the happy ending wasn't far away. He wanted to sink deep into this dream.

But he had to keep hold of reality. Sanity was an important asset he couldn't afford to loose. It was hard and exhausting to live here, where he was ugly and ruthless and the ending never came. Truth had no escape.

Nicolas's hand kept fondly playing with the lacing, stroking his body. The embrace tightly pressed their bodies against each other. "It's not a princess's fault, that her life and a commoner's life are governed by different rules. And yet, you apologized for it, profoundly so." A soft kiss ons Marshall's powered cheek. "So, I gave you a gift to show my forgiveness."

He felt like blushing, the heat on his cheeks raging beneath the white make-up. His fingers wanted to fidget with the lacing of his dress more, but Nicolas's hand was already there. Their fingers interlocked.

"So, tell me, why wouldn't you deserve my next gift?", Nicolas asked.

Marshall shrugged. "Just in general?" A huff near his ear and a shiver crept along his spine. "I mean, I ain't an easy person to be with. I know that. And you don't deserve all the shit I'm giving you." Cheating on him and freely fucking with anyone who asked nice - or not, that wasn't really a prerequisite - wasn't all that was wrong with him. It wasn't okay to vent his anger about a broken game or about his own embarrassment in their texts or how he hadn't helped Nicolas meeting his friends or how he prized secrets out of Nicolas Marshall had no business knowing about or how he abused Nicolas's niceness to feel better about himself. Not to mention his overall personality like being too stubborn and too temperamental, often lost in his thoughts, hardly able to take things serious but meaningless shit he often took too serious and all the crap he put the people around him through. He wasn't good company.

"I like you", Nicolas said once again and Marshall could't help the smile his lips wanted to form. Three words he believed, but didn't understand. "You don't need to be easy, only be you. There's no punishment for being who you are."

Closing his eyes, the words resounded inside him. Marshall leaned in to Nicolas and kissed him, feeling the other's lips on his and feeling the warmth of their pretense grow in his chest. Hopefully there was a world, where this was true. At least one version of him should know happiness.

"Will you accept my gift?", Nicolas asked between their lips, not letting the touch fade.

A slight nod. The hesitance wasn't out of self-flagellation or him not deserving this, but only because Marshall wanted this moment to last a little longer. He didn't want this kiss to end so soon. But ends were inevitable. Then, the gift box was given into his hands. »Thank you.« Whatever it was, Marshall was sure he'd like it. Underneath the wrapping was a jewel case. Puzzled, he looked up.

A sheepish smile on the thin lips, Nicolas rubbed his neck. »Looks like we had a similar idea for tonight.«

Marshall frowned. What did he mean by that? As he opened the case, he understood. On dark velvet sparkled a collar necklace made from silver with light blue gemstones. Across the silver plates drew an angular pattern, the stones emphasized the hard lines. It looked beautiful without too much embellishment. Vehemently, Marshall shook his head. "I can't take this. This is too much." This wasn't of moderate value, he was sure. He pushed the case back to Nicolas. "I can't take this!"

"Ice Princess."

The dark voice shot into his nerves, a hot rush through his body. "I mean, thank you, of course, really, I appreciate the gesture. But this looks expensive. This is too much. You don't need to do this. I told you, I don't care about money, that don't impress me. I can't take this. This is too-"

Nicolas cupped his jaw with one hand. "Marshall", the two syllables of his name with the slight slur of Nicolas's voice sent a heat wave to his groins instantly. "Just say 'thank you' and let me put it on you."

Marshall chewed on his lower lip, another look at the silver collar. It was very pretty …

Not waiting for another word, Nicolas carefully picked up the piece of jewelry and laid it around Marshall's neck. Tenderly, he stroked the white curls of the wig out of his way and closed the clip. He picked at the silver collar until it embraced Marshall's throat perfectly. A kiss to the nape of his neck. "You're gorgeous, Ice Princess", he whispered.

The words seeped into his cells like warm honey. With pointed fingers Marshall stroked over the metal and felt the gems under his fingertips. When he swallowed, he could feel the collar move with him. »Thank you.« The smile on his lips was saturated with deep affection and warm gratitude. He kissed his boyfriend again.

Their lips came together gently, meaningful. Slowly moving with each other, keen to show what they felt in this moment, emotions tender and rife with endearment, thankful for each other to not only be here, but for them to share this time. Their tongues embraced one another, tasting each other, putting into touch that they understood. Tonight they were just like any other couple, romantic and loving.

Moments passed like this, the kiss soft, hands fondly caressing just to feel more. But a curiosity grew in Marshall and he leaned back just enough to sign: »I want to see it.«

Nicolas made a gesture toward the stairs.

Marshall sprang to his feet and held out a hand for his boyfriend to come with him. After all, it was a gift from him and that was half the beauty of it. As if the metal and stones contained the warm words Nicolas sometimes said do him, had said to him this evening and the sweet tone this nickname held. Feeling the metal against his skin, how it moved with every small shift his body made, Marshall couldn't do anything but believe it. To Nicolas, he was beautiful.

Together they walked upstairs and into the bedroom. The full-length mirror in the closet door was the only one of this size. Somehow it didn't seem right to look at a piece this magnificent in a tiny hand mirror. So, they stood together, both reflected life-sized. Nicolas's hand on his hips felt good, right even. Again, Marshall stroked his fingertips over the collar. The light blue stones, the geometrical pattern, it all fit perfectly with his outfit. As if it could only ever be this way.

He very much was Nicolas's Ice Princess.


	50. It's Like A Verbal Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolas and Marshall enjoy Christmas together and since it's them, it get's a bit sexy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @CosmicBash Thank you for your tumblr. (And your stories, but you already knew that.) Here's Nicolas appreciating Em's tiddies - and also the rest of him, like, I mean, what's not to appreciate about this guy, am I right?

"I have one more present for you", Nicolas said, his voice fondling Marshall's ear, his hands softly stroked along Marshall's sides. Their eyes met in the mirror. A serene expression on his face as the black eyes took in the picture inch by inch, pixel by pixel.

"Why?", Marshall asked surprised. What more could Nicolas give him? "I don't have nothing else for you." What more could he give Nicolas? He wasn't a man of many talents and the few talents he possessed, Nicolas had a hard time appreciating. If he wrote him a song, how much joy could Nicolas have with that? And if he made himself into more of a present than the dress already did, wasn't he just doing more of the same? For a normal couple sex sometimes could be much of a gift, but for them? From him? He gave sex to everyone, that wasn't special at all. He wanted to do something special for Nicolas. Moreover, he wanted to be special for Nicolas. His fingers stroked over the silver collar again.

The thin lips stretched into a grin. "I have everything I want."

Marshall turned around, looking at his boyfriend directly was better than through a mirror. There were small crinkles in the corners of Nicolas's eyes. "Merry Christmas." He leaned the short distance down to kiss him again. It was a funny feeling being the one to lean down, more so thanks to the high heels. He could get used to that.

»But«, Nicolas signed and he twirled a blond curl around his finger for a second. »I probably have to ruin all of this. We should enjoy it a little longer with all the hard work you put into it.«

What exactly did Nicolas have in mind? A tingle in his groin. »It's okay.« This look was his gift after all. Marshall was just glad, Nicolas liked it at all, quite much actually. That was more than he had hoped for. »Feel free to do what you want.« Marshall bit his lips slightly bashful. It sounded much like an invitation and he certainly meant it as one, if Nicolas wanted to do something hot and dirty, he could go right at it. But he was strangely sure, they wouldn't need to for this night to be good. That was a new feeling. By all accounts, Nicolas wanted to be here, regardless if Marshall offered his ass up or not. And that gave his otherwise flippant invitation more heart and more earnestness. He wanted for Nicolas to enjoy this night as thoroughly as possible … No, he wanted them to enjoy this night together, maybe with sex, maybe not, but together they would be.

Mischief twinkled in Nicolas's eyes. »I will.«

Heat swirled up in Marshall's stomach.

»Later.« Nicolas's index finger hooked on the neckline of the dress, the point burned through the cloth. Then, he turned from Marshall and left the bedroom.

Savoring the view of the broad back, Marshall rubbed over the spot on his chest, where he could feel Nicolas's touch. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes focussed on the silver collar again. A quiet came over him. Perhaps, there was a way for him to be only for Nicolas. The smile on his lips was genuine.

But first, he had to freshen his make-up. The blue of the lipstick had lost a little with all the eating and kissing and biting. Then, he hurried out the room.

Before Marshall could put his foot on the first step, Nicolas gestured to halt. He stood at the bottom of the stairs. »How about we make a Disney movie out of tonight?«, he suggested and held up his phone. »Can I film you, like coming down?«

Marshall smirked. »You're a bit of an idiot, you know that?« But he smoothed out his dress, just to make sure everything was fluffy and flowed correctly. And he waited for Nicolas's signal.

When the phone camera was set up, Marshall walked down the stairs. One hand on the rail in a classy gesture, the steps slow and weighted. The swelling of an orchestra was missing and it wasn't the grand foyer of a ballroom or anything, just his lake house, just his boyfriend. Marshall felt a little silly and a little flattered. At the bottom of the stairs, he swirled around to show off his outfit and imitated the shy but charming smile of those heroines, suddenly beautiful and suddenly the center of attention; indulging his boyfriend in his fantasy. »You want a dance, too?«

»Why not? If you won't sing me anything.« Nicolas put his phone back into his pocket. Drawing him in, he laid an arm around Marshall's hips, holding the other’s hand and slowly swayed around the living room.

Marshall laughed quietly, maybe he would sing something later. A little surprise? But he leaned into Nicolas's embrace and swayed with him. Calling this dancing was a little rich, just them moving in silence. Though nice undoubtedly.

For a little while they swayed and swirled around the living room, moving to an unknown rhythm. A slow dance just in their heads, but it was easy to move together. They savored being close with each other and sometimes kissed one another, sometimes Nicolas stroked Marshall's cheek or his back or his sides and so did Marshall sometimes stroke over Nicolas's chest or his back or his ass. It felt good to share this, to enjoy together the splendor of Marshall's dress and Nicolas's fantasy. The ice princess and her barking dog.

Eventually, Marshall pulled Nicolas back to the sofa and sat down again, mostly to get out of his heels. They cuddled close to each other and turned on the TV. It didn't matter what was shown, only Nicolas's hands mattered that still stroked softly over Marshall, caressing his arm and his side. In the same way Marshall softly stroked over Nicolas's chest, pressing himself against the other's body. Feeling the hands on his own body, feeling his own hands on the other's rose a quiet warmth in him. A lovely moment.

But the warmth rose irrevocably and curled around his insides. Marshall shifted his position, not wanting his body to interrupt their coziness. Nicolas's fingers played with the lacing of his dress again, apparently really liking it and deliberately, tenderly caressing his stomach. Probably fully aware of what this did to Marshall. The warmth pressed on, gliding through his veins first and now all rushing to the same spot. A tight ball of heat thumped through his limbs and his dick very much welcomed the sensation. The soft touches rose anticipation that there would be some sexy fun tonight and the free reigns of the dress were no barrier to suggest otherwise. Nicolas had to notice this, the way Marshall's body was pressed against him. Only way to hide how his dick started expecting more than only cuddling, was to stand up and end this moment. He wouldn't. Rather, Marshall pressed himself closer against his boyfriend and buried his nose in the other's neck. The smell of cool stones after rain, a taste of calm and untetheredness on his tongue. Every touch to the body next to him was an exploration of that calm. Feeling the muscles underneath the t-shirt, the slow rising of the chest with every breath. Marshall didn't want more in this moment, because lying like this was perfect. Something his dick didn't understand.

»I think, it's time for your next Christmas present«, Nicolas signed and the grin on his lips had this mean streak to it that made Marshall's head spin.

»What is it?« And where? There wasn't any package left on the table.

Nicolas shifted a little for his hand to reach down into his pants pocket. A small box came forward, another jewel case from the looks of it.

»What, no wrapping paper?«, Marshall teased. But he sat up and took the box. He adjusted the tiara a little, though it stuck firm in the blond hair. As he opened the case, more velvet bedding appeared. On it lay a ring, though not for any fingers. "A cockring?" He blinked with surprise.

There was this grin again. »I figured, this is a good opportunity.«

Questioning, Marshall looked at his boyfriend. What did he mean, a good opportunity? An opportunity for what? As if Marshall would've said no either way. A little toy like this wasn't a big deal. Did Nicolas think that of him? Maybe they needed to talk about their experiences a little more. Just because he wasn't overly passionate about kinks himself, didn't mean he was averse to toys and it didn't mean he hadn't done nothing in this regard. He'd had his fair share of … eccentric sex in the past. Yeah, that's a way to call it. "Sure, why not. You or me?"

»You, of course.« Nicolas got up and walked to his duffle that lay forgotten at the door.

Of course him? A shrug. Marshall took the ring from its bed and examined it closely. It had a light blue color and the silicone felt smooth under his fingers, also sturdy. Well, looked like he was gifting sex as a Christmas present after all. So much for good intentions.

Nicolas sat down again, he had gotten a small bottle of lube from his bag. »Lift your dress up.«

»I could just take it off«, Marshall offered. »That’ll make things easier.«

But Nicolas shook his head. »Just lift it. I promise, I won't make it dirty. Much.« He took the ring from Marshall's hands and prepared it with a bit of lube.

As long as it was worth it, Marshall didn't really care if it got dirty. But he put the small box aside and rearranged his dress for easier access. The band of the belt that hung down the front was drawn to the side and he gathered up the skirt, revealing his legs. His toes curled expectantly.

It didn't even take a second for one of Nicolas's hands to rub over his thigh, now that it laid bare. The fingers pulled down at the briefs to reveal more of him, their touch was like hot darts shooting into his groin. The prospect of some sexy fun with his boyfriend and acting out a little more of his kinks, that was delightful in its own way. Kneading his lips between his teeth, Marshall watched as Nicolas put the ring on him. How the rough fingers touched him carefully and precisely as one after another his balls went through the ring, then his dick. Nicolas had called this just at the right moment, any longer and he might've gotten too excited for this. The silicone was stretched a little to go on easier, but eagerly went back to its rightful shape.

»This okay?«, Nicolas signed with one hand, the other stroking softly over the firm thigh.

Marshall nodded, "It's tight." Somehow the ring snug around his junk highlighted the collar around his throat. He swallowed hard and felt the smooth metal rub against his skin.

Satisfied with the answer, Nicolas pulled down the briefs completely and just as careless as the wrapping paper before, he let them fall to the floor. Not missing a beat, both hands stroked over Marshall's thighs and grabbed hard at the flesh. Nicolas leaned over to kiss Marshall.

Who answered the lips forthcoming, kissed them, nibbled at them, tasted them with his tongue before chasing after Nicolas's. He wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

Nicolas obliged, came closer and pressed Marshall down into the couch cushions. One of his hands stroked its way upward, just so touching Marshall's stomach and his chest and got a hold of his neck. The fingers pushed the collar ever so slightly upward, causing a warm shiver down Marshall's spine. "My Ice Princess", the husky voice said too close to his ears and a whimper of agreement left Marshall's throat. "That's my Christmas present for you: That you're mine and I will make you remember."

He dragged his half closed eyes to look at Nicolas's face. A smirk of dark promise on the thin lips and a determined sheen in the black eyes. A strange sense of pride spread out in Marshall. There was light in these eyes that otherwise seemed to be dead so often, and it was his light. "How?", he asked in a hushed tone. He desperately wanted to agree, but the truth bit his throat.

"I'm glad you ask." Nicolas mouthed softly up his jawline and nipped at his earlobe. The dark voice was directly in his ear, each too long syllable like an electric shock to his brain, each too soft consonant shot a beam of fire into his dick. "You will only cum, when you pass my test." Nicolas's thumb on his throat stroked slightly but with pressure. Nicolas's hand on his inner thigh squeezed insistent. "Don't worry, it's easy. I only have a few questions that you need to answer correctly."

"Ah-", Marshall's moan interrupted his answer and he swallowed. His Adam's apple was trapped between the collar and Nicolas's thumb. "Aight", he agreed. That was the least he could do to proof to Nicolas that he was worth his time. The anticipation that filled out his dick by now made him wish for easy questions. "What, uhm …" The hand rubbing his inner thigh distracted him too much and teeth were biting his ear, that wasn't fair. "What if I don't? I mean, hmm, if I cum before I pass?" He wasn't one to stall himself and he had the feeling, Nicolas was out to seduce him to the core.

Nicolas's tongue licked the curve of his ear. "If you don't pass, you won't cum", he explained, his voice dark and breathy. The thumb on Marshall's throat pressed deeper, another whimper. "If you cum without my permission, I will have to punish you." The soft consonants didn't soften the threat. "I'm certain, you'll do the right thing."

"Aight", barely more than a whisper. Marshall had never done the right thing in his life, he didn't really see how this would be different. But he would try his best for Nicolas. His boyfriend deserved this much.

A soft kiss to Marshall's lips. "First question: Do you like to cook for me?"

Marshall blinked his eyes open, that wasn't what he had expected. As he saw the mean grin on Nicolas's face, he was sure this was just to warm up. "Yeah, kinda. I-", he swallowed, but the thumb pressed into his throat made this really hard. Marshall closed his eyes again and stretched his head back, exposing all of his neck for Nicolas to abuse. "Housework keeps me … keeps me grounded." There were a lot of things in the house he did himself. Not out of thrill, but because it reminded him, that he was just some random person like everyone else. Otherwise a life like his could go to someone's head quite massively.

"Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed. A tongue licked across the hurt spot on Marshall's throat as the hand left. It slid down to his chest, rubbing over the embroidered pattern, the diamonds pushing back against the movement. Nicolas's hand kneaded his breast ardently, thoroughly. The neckline - revealing on a woman's body undoubtedly - was pulled down and the fingers playfully pinched his exposed nipple, massaging the muscle that was his tit.

Marshall raked his fingers through the spiky black hair and the exhale was shaky. He sucked in his lower lip and bit down, sealed the moan inside. His body shifted on its own, trying to avoid the uncomfortable feeling that he liked this too much. His limbs strung up, wanting to push Nicolas away but unable to move.

"Second question: Why are you afraid I would take you for a woman?" His lips and tongue kissed their way down Marshall's neck and sucked in the freed nipple.

A moan buzzed in his throat, but Marshall kept his mouth shut. He swallowed it down until he was sure, his voice wouldn't betray him. "I'm wearing a fucking dress, what d'you think", he snarled.

"No, try again", Nicolas ordered. The other hand left Marshall's thigh and came up to his chest as well, kneading and massaging the flesh. His second nipple was laid bare, the neckline of his dress pulled down fully underneath the curve of his breasts.

Still Marshall kept his mouth shut, but the moan reverberated through his whole body. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had more control over himself. There was no way Nicolas didn't notice, hell, Nicolas did everything to provoke it. Marshall pulled at the black hair, but neither the hands nor the mouth on his chest would budge. What was he to do? His cheeks burned beneath the make-up, his whole face was on fire from the embarrassment and the make-up suddenly felt like it etched into his skin. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth to get the lipstick off, then he rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes, the fake eyelashes stung like needles. "I-hmm", the moan finally escaped. His body shifted underneath his boyfriend, being at odds with itself: wanting to get away from the hands that made him qualmish, wanting to get more from the hands that made him horny. "I'm not a … not a woman", his voice shook slightly. Could Nicolas detect that? Please no. A fast whisper: "But I don't always feel like a man."

A soft kiss to the middle of Marshall's chest. "Good, go on."

Marshall inhaled deeply, his whole ribcage moving with the action. "Not good, that's bad, very bad." He had this mental image of what kind of man he wanted to be. A tough question for everyone, of course, but sometimes he felt like he failed especially hard. Some words always came up: strong, reliable, decisive - and he worked hard for it, portraying this side of him in his music and in the public eye. But he was also emotional, artistic, caring - and he couldn't always keep this behind closed doors. The hands still fondled his breasts. "I need to be a man, like through and through … in life you can't be weak, in Hip Hop you can't be soft … ahh, I shouldn't be like this: ugly and useless." His body leaned into the hands touching him, the moans spilled over his lips unwanted and the tingle of arousal was everywhere inside him.

Nicolas looked at him directly. "Do you think you're ugly and useless, because you aren't macho?"

Biting his lip, Marshall hesitated to nod. "I don't fit nowhere. Only thing I ain't useless for's writing songs and the only time I ain't ugly's in a dress. I, hmm, I want to be a good father, a good husband, but … all I do is whore myself out to people. That ain't the kind of man I wanna be. How manly is it to lust after other men's dicks?" He hid his face behind his hands. "I should’ve been a woman", but he wasn't. The passionate fingers and lips on his chest bore witness to how much better that would've been, to the excitement his body had for these touches.

One of his hands was gently pushed aside. A soft kiss was placed to the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad you're not a woman."

Surprised Marshall looked at his boyfriend. "What?"

"I'm gay", Nicolas explained with a smirk, "I have fun with dicks, not with vaginas." Another soft kiss to the lips, his arms reached around to embrace Marshall. "Besides, you wouldn't be you. That's all you need to be: yourself. What kind of man that is or if you're a bit girlish sometimes, it's all the same. It's all you." The soft scrape of a zipper was audible behind Marshall's back, Nicolas had opened the dress. He stroked the arms of the dress down, revealing Marshall's shoulders and uncovered all of his upper body. Against the snow white make-up of his neck and would-be cleavage his skin seemed to have more of a bronze color than was actually true. "You're gorgeous, be it in jeans or a dress or naked." Slowly the hands explored the skin, felt with relish the body underneath. "You're beautiful on the outside and on the inside and just the whole of you." His hands clasped around Marshall's neck, his thumbs stroked along the jaw. Nicolas leaned down until their foreheads touched. "You're valuable and precious, Marshall."

Marshall's breath hitched. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the dark, warm voice and its too long syllables that cradled his hostile thoughts, its too soft consonants that hugged his ill heart. Why was Nicolas speaking so much? "No, I'm not."

A disagreeing huff. "Third question: What are three things you like about your body?"

Marshall opened his eyes again, perplexed. "What's this, horny therapy?" Wasn't this supposed to lead to some fucking? Nicolas couldn't promise him sex like this and not keep to it.

"Humor me." The fingers around Marshall's neck played with the silver collar.

If he wanted to be Nicolas's, he had to answer his wishes. He shrugged, "Uhm, I dunno. My mouth?" It got him into trouble a lot, either by sucking a dick he wasn't supposed to, or by talking shit to the wrong person, but he was rather proud of his skills as a rapper.

Nicolas sealed the mouth in question with his own, kissed him long and slow, a drawn out touch and an in-depth exploration. He sucked in the lips and nibbled at them with devotion, his tongue finding Marshall's and entangling them with each other.

Eagerly Marshall reached out, enjoying the intimate touch and how arousal flowed through his veins again, undisturbed by the heavy thoughts just seconds ago.

When the kiss finally broke, a last peck on his lips, Nicolas's encouragement to name the next body part.

"My hands." They got him into trouble a lot, either by holding on to an ass he wasn't supposed to, or by punching the wrong person, but he had build a life for his daughters with these hands and that was the greatest accomplishment.

Nicolas took the hands in question into his own and kissed the tip of the index finger. His tongue softly caressed along the length of the middle finger. Each of the ten fingertips was kissed and touched by the lips, fondly Nicolas stroked over the palms. There was no rush in his movements, just ginger kisses and a tongue keen to taste everything. He sucked in two of Marshall's fingers, teasing what he could do somewhere else with something else, but now his concentration was here and to give pleasure to these digits.

Entranced Marshall bit his swollen lips, the sharp sensation pleasurable in its own right. His mind wandered to the somewhere else and so did a wave of heat and a prickling tension. Just thinking about his boyfriend's mouth around his dick … This was the kind of lustful thing they should do tonight. Maybe it could be okay? Just for a second? He wasn't sure how this would go and what Nicolas wanted from him. Should he just lay here? The thought was wrong, but the picture in front of him, his boyfriend devotedly sucking on his fingers … so hot.

Their eyes met. A glimmer in Nicolas's black holes that made Marshall's heart jump and his dick twitch. A raised eyebrow demanded the next body part.

"Dick", slipped out. "I mean-", his spit covered fingers twitched anxiously, "Uhm, just …", he hadn't meant to say that. Of course his dick wasn't something about his body that he liked, always getting him into trouble by being horny indiscriminately and by carelessly fucking whichever hole was open for him. Who would like that? "Yah, my dick", a strong nod. But he did. Marshall loved it, the heat, the passion, the ease, the closeness. It was a high you could only have with another human being.

Nicolas grinned amused, there certainly were teasing words on his mind, but he neither spoke nor signed them. A last kiss to the palms of Marshall's hands and he let go of them, sliding his own down the body in the sky blue dress. Again, the skirt was ruffed up and Nicolas's hands grabbed for the thick thighs revealed. His nails dug into the flesh for a moment. Marshall's dick stood strong, wanting, waiting. Nicolas leaned down and peppered it with small kisses.

A silent sigh left Marshall, not sure why he had held his breath, but glad his boyfriend was touching him. He wanted to be worth the effort. The kisses turned longer and deeper, soon a slick tongue on the sensitive skin coaxed another moan out of him, one he freely shared. This he could like unashamedly and proudly. His hands clenched around the fabric amassed around his midsection, Marshall curiously looked down to where his boyfriend and his dick met. A sight that had him moan again, the sensation flooding him. His dick vanished between thin lips, invading the hot, damp mouth and he was weak to it. A tongue nestled up against him, putting more pressure to his dick and he welcomed it, wished for more. Want curled around in his stomach and muscles tightened. His head fell back with another moan, the collar rubbing against his throat with every heavy breath. The lips closed around the tip, the tongue dipping into the slit and a peak of pleasure enlightened his nerves. A drop of sweat tickled the back of Marshall's thigh, the muscle trembled underneath the path that kept prickling. The mouth took him in deep and enclosed him in delight, his hips buckled for more. Marshall's breathing grew loud in his ears. His hand fisted long strands of blond hair, a moot attempt to gain a hold.

Then, cold air hit wet skin. "Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed. Mouth and dick parting ways.

Marshall groaned loudly, "C'mon." With half-closed eyes he looked to his boyfriend, but he sat between Marshall's legs fully clothed and smirking. This had felt so good, why stop? If he didn't want to suck him, fine, but he couldn't just stop in the middle of things. Soft fabric touched his dick like the wing of a butterfly, too much to ignore but too little to mean anything. A shiver through Marshall's body and he stretched out underneath the black eyes, shifting to entice his boyfriend for more, raising his hips in no way modest. His own fingers closed around the hard dick, jerking to bring back the pleasure but it wasn't as good.

Just with his index, Nicolas scraped along the inside of Marshall's thigh.

A sound between a whimper and a moan came from Marshall and the touch shook a wave of lust through his limbs. His other hand stretched out for Nicolas, but wouldn't quite reach him or his t-shirt. "Take if off", the begging in his voice was well becoming.

"Fourth question", Nicolas continued with the game of the evening, "What are three things you do not like about your body?"

Annoyed, Marshall huffed. Couldn't Nicolas just fuck him already? "If I wanted this, I'd spend Christmas with my therapist", he hummed not as harshly as he'd meant to. Pulling back one of his legs, he set his foot against Nicolas's crotch and pressed his toes into the fabric of the pants. A triumphant grin as he felt the hard cock inside. At least he was turning his boyfriend on, he could work with that.

"Answer my question", Nicolas demanded. His face not showing anything else but stoicism.

Would Nicolas kiss those body parts as well? Marshall kneaded his lower lip between his teeth in an excited gesture. "My balls?", he suggested. The idea had them tighten already. His hips buckled again, his thumb smearing precum over the tip of his dick.

"No, try again", Nicolas ordered and he flipped against Marshall's nose chidingly.

He sighed disappointed. "My chin", its features were a little too soft for his liking. Thanks to his weight loss, now that he was sober, it gotten a little better.

Rough fingertips stroked along the line of his jaw and Nicolas leaned down once more, pressed his lips against the powdered skin and kissed along the bone. The other hand, however, pried off the fingers from Marshall's dick - another disappointed sigh - and interlaced them with each other. The thin lips didn't only pepper kisses along the jawline or on his chin, but all over his face. Softly caressing his cheeks and mouthing lovingly across his forehead, sucking sweetly at his cheekbones or his brow ridge, a teasing bite into the tip of his nose. But Nicolas's mouth always came back to his chin and showered it with affection.

"My ankles", which were a little too delicate for his liking, hardly seemed sturdy enough to carry his body. But so far, they did.

Nicolas broke away from the chin, a last kiss. The free hand not holding Marshall's, stroked down one of his legs, grabbing his thigh passionately before moving past it and lifting his leg up. Holding on to the heel, Nicolas sucked down on his anklebone and nibbled at the tendons. A thumb pressed itself into the sole of Marshall's foot, gently but highly sensible and stroking the skin. Marshall's toes wiggled nervously, but Nicolas wasn't deterred by the tiny movement. Rather, he concentrated on the ankle and soon all of the foot, kissing along the arch, sucking and nibbling at the toes, licking across the bridge of the foot back to the ankle. He even let go of Marshall's hand, so he could hold up the other leg and shower it in just as much niceties.

Unsurprisingly, Marshall's hand was back on his dick the second it could, slowly stroking up and down the member while he watched Nicolas. This was a strangely pervy sight: His naked legs held up in the air, Nicolas's head nestled between them and that mouth dedicating all its time to his feet. A bit cliché, but that didn't stop Marshall's moans.

Their eyes met. The black holes gleamed in the warm light of the room, warm from deep within and Marshall knew what he needed to say next, that the truth would bring out more warmth from these eyes and he yearned for it. Nicolas should be happy and Marshall wanted to give him everything. But trepidation held him back. Opening up more of this secret to Nicolas felt like too much risk and too foul for this moment. Closing his eyes, Marshall focused on the feeling of affection that filled his veins, and the lasciviousness that overflowed his synapses. A twitch of his wrist and his balls tightened, a groan that it wasn't enough. The ring tight, the collar tight.

"No", Nicolas's dark voice sounded like thunder in the heavy atmosphere between them.

As if burned, his whole body flinched and Marshall's hands recoiled instantly.

"You haven't earned my permission, Ice Princess", the grin on Nicolas's lips was shady and mean, "Your score is two out of four. Try harder."

Marshall wheezed frustrated. "I-" His throat was dry and he swallowed hard, didn't help. The collar around his neck scraped his skin. "How?"

"It's easy, answer my questions correctly." He let Marshall's legs down gently, his hands stroking along the knees and thighs. "You've been doing good with this last one, how does your answer end?"

Marshall swallowed again and bit his lips bashfully. He knew, what the correct answer was. Again, he closed his eyes and his hands covered his face. "My … my nipples", he said inaudible, but Nicolas didn't need to hear.

A rough fingertip caressed one of them. "Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed. "You can earn the other missing point, if you tell me why."

Shakily he inhaled and muttered, "You know why", or at least Nicolas probably had a good guess by now.

"Pretend I'm an idiot." Nicolas's touches were calm and tender and caring. A soft kiss to Marshall's chest.

"I don't …" How could he say this? The feelings were hard to describe, the reasons so much harder to see. "Just … I don't wanna be wrong", Marshall finally admitted in the low hum those soft touches created, "I ain't a girl, I'm a guy. Just, the wrong kind of guy … the sensitive, girlish kind of guy and - And no one likes that."

"I like you", Nicolas disagreed quietly, thumb and middle finger plucking at the painted chest to emphasize the spoken word. He looked at Marshall directly and it felt like his black eyes could absorb the pain and make it disappear. "I like you because of who you are, including sensitive and girlish and strong and stubborn and moody and hard-working and everything else. It's the whole of you that's so magnetic."

Sheepish, Marshall bit his lips again and the tender skin hurt. "It never sounds like you like me." Again he tried to seal the soft moaning inside that Nicolas's hands caused. A thumb still caressed over one of the nipples.

"Everyone can like you 'cause you're beautiful or witty, there's nothing to that." They did, en masse. "That, which you cannot like yourself, I will like for you", Nicolas promised in sincere earnest.

A whine left Marshall's throat, a sound of relief he hadn't known was necessary. His face flushed underneath the smeared make-up and his vision blurred. »I know«, Marshall tapped fingertips against his temple. Those words he had to believe, those words he had already known. He denied this simple truth because he was too afraid, but Nicolas affirmed it constantly, tirelessly. Nicolas liked him and Marshall didn't know what to do. »I'm sorry«, his fist drew a circle across his chest.

"No, try again", Nicolas ordered.

The vowels said just a little too long, a sound now so familiar it felt like home. "Really, you don't have to", Marshall answered hushed. He knew, that was the wrong answer.

"No, try again", Nicolas ordered.

»Thank you.«

A warm smile. "Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed.

Marshall breathed easy again. The pleasured hum from his throat filled the air around him, the fingers still playing with his nipples, the hands still stroking and kneading his tits. He wore a dress and long hair and had felt pretty this evening, and Nicolas agreed, enthralled by the sight of his Ice Princess. Wasn't that, what Marshall had wanted? For Nicolas to like this side of him, too, regardless that it wasn't near the kind of man Marshall wanted to be. Why was he afraid of it coming true? Nicolas liked him, that was the only truth that mattered.

Another slow kiss between them and Marshall felt like drowning between their lips. His arms closed around Nicolas's shoulders, holding him down, holding him against his body and feeling the weight. The rough fabric of the pants rubbed against his hard, leaking dick and drew a raspy moan from him. He could feel Nicolas's cock just as heard beneath the fabric, but too far away. A hand stole itself away to the crotch, looking for the zipper to open.

With an amused voice Nicolas asked, "Fifth question: Tell me about three things you did good this year."

Marshall raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Really?" Hadn't it been enough questions? Hadn't he given enough embarrassing answers? Didn't Nicolas want to fuck him already? If the cock in his hand told him anything, then that his boyfriend should feel just as desperate for sex as he did.

"Told you", his boyfriend smirked amused but otherwise unaffected, "As a Nicolas I have some sway about the nice list. Tell me why you deserve your Christmas gift." He pushed their hips together explicitly.

Marshall's hips answered in kind and his legs pressed themselves against his boyfriend above, a moan from deep within his body. "Uhm", his brain was at a loss for words for a second. He shrugged, "Maybe the album?" All of the year had revolved around _Recovery_ and it felt so much more like coming back to music and to himself than the previous one. The title deservedly given. "It's really good, and very genuine, and honest." Another hum buzzed in his throat as his body grinded against Nicolas. "Without the stupid shit I don't wanna do anymore. Hmm … Just music, just me."

A nibble at Marshall's clavicle and Nicolas moved the snowflake pendant back into place. A long look given to it, the diamonds reflecting in the black eyes. Marshall's heart skipped a beat as he saw this. Nothing reflected in those eyes.Another kiss on Marshall's chest and the hands slid the dress down further, Nicolas took the space he wanted to run his tongue along Marshall's ribs.

"And maybe", another pleasured sound interrupted his answer, "That I made Lainy's wish come true. For her birthday, I got Drake to come here. She's a huge fan and, ahh, I never saw her so happy." The soft blue fabric covered his dick again, a light touch stroking him with every shift and every twitch his body made. Only a tease that he wanted more. His pulse against the ring.

Nicolas pushed the dress down more, it created a heap where their bodies met and buried the wanting dick under the soft fabric. But it gave enough space for him, as he bit into Marshall's stomach and let his tongue play with the dimple that was his navel. He kissed along the lines of the tattoo, remnants of a Marshall he barely got to see.

The kisses stoked more heat and Marshall's muscles trembled under the touch. A fresh shot of arousal peaked inside, his hips buckled again but the fabric didn't even feign enough friction. He tried to run a hand through his short hair, but his fingers got tangled in the blond strands of the wig, the tiara stopping his hand. For a moment, he opened and closed his eyes deliberately, wrestling for control over his brain. His other hand moving down, not a plan but an urge to get back on his dick. The light fabric tickling it made everything worse, need heightened.

But Nicolas caught him and interlocked their fingers again, pushing their hips together again. Marshall moaned loudly. "One more", Nicolas's voice was muffled by the skin he kissed.

"What?", Marshall asked breathless. Right, the game he was surely losing. "Hmm … Therapy", he listed the last good thing of this year. The fake lashes tickled his palm has he rubbed his eyes, rubbed tears of desperation out of their corner. He wanted Nicolas to fuck him so badly. Or just suck him off, he wasn't choosy.

Nicolas sat up again, his black eyes scanning over the writhing body on the couch. "How so?" A hand stroked down one of Marshall's legs again and moved it over to the other side, the body following his orders willingly. Now he slid the dress down the rest of Marshall's form and the sky blue fabric was carelessly discarded to the floor.

A light feeling, now that the dress was gone and couldn't tickle his dick anymore. But it didn't tickle his dick anymore, only the want for touch left behind. "'Cause I'm gay", Marshall explained half looking over his shoulder, lying on his side. A smile on his lips, because he was genuinely glad he could say this sentence without much fear again and he was just as glad he had somebody to share this with. He shifted his body a little more, so his ass was a highlight to look at. Being naked in front of Nicolas, in front of his boyfriend made his stomach jump with a newfound thrill. "And that's okay, y'know."

"Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed. Teasingly he pinched one of the cheeks that were offered so generously.

Marshall groaned with pleasure. Dress gone, his fingers had all the space to clasp around his hard member and jerking it. His arm slid easily on top his hips, skin wet from sweat. He twisted the ring around, but it didn't take off the pressure.

"Sixth question: Tell me about three things you did wrong this year."

Instantly, his body tensed up and Marshall hid his face in the closest cushion. "You know", he muttered. Flashes of brown skin crossed his mind and the hard thrusts by a dick that wasn't here and the irresistible need to be fucked until his consciousness gave out. His hole twitched with the memory and his ass shifted to invite a dick in. Any dick.

Gentle hands caressed Marshall's ass, sparking a hot wave through the body. "You don't need to mention it", too long syllables that anchored him. This was Nicolas, not anyone.

A shaky exhale into the cushion and Marshall turned his face, looking to his boyfriend from the corner of his eye. "But I have to answer correctly", he insisted. That was the rule Nicolas had laid out for him.

His boyfriend only nodded, still rubbing the cheeks and stroking up Marshall's lower back. A calm movement, fingers spread out wide to cover as much skin as possible, to feel as much of Marshall as possible.

Marshall leaned into the hands. "I hurt you." How could he omit that from the list? He had to answer correctly, lying wasn't an option.

"No, you didn't." A soft kiss onto Marshall's lower back and Nicolas lightly nibbled at the vertebra of Marshall's spine. "You didn't hurt me, there's nothing you did wrong with me." Hands softly massaged the naked skin and explored how his body was build. Thumbs pressed against the edge of his shoulder-blades, fingers drawing the line of his spine and his ribs, palms cupping his ass cheeks. Kisses swarmed all over Marshall's back.

"But-", he wanted to talk back, he couldn't believe these words.

Nicolas pinched his sides in punishment. "Don't make me deduct points."

Taking in a deep breath, Marshall closed his eyes for a moment. Nicolas's hands touched him fondly, lovingly even and his lips kissed him tenderly, caring even. If him hurting Nicolas didn't count - If maybe he hadn't actually hurt Nicolas, what had he done wrong this year? "I been a slut." He had vowed to himself to not fall into old habits again, to be a better person now that he was sober, but this one he couldn't shake off. This habit he didn't want to lose, that had to be a wrong.

A growl from his boyfriend. "That's the same thing. You don't earn my permission like this." The hands still lingered on Marshall's body, kneaded his ass cheeks and a fresh wave of pleasure flowed through.

"Let me explain?", he asked and once more bit his lips that grew raw. This was the correct answer, it had to be. Why wouldn't Nicolas accept it?

A punitive bite into one of the cheeks - a hitch from Marshall. "There isn't anything to explain", Nicolas told him off. "You didn't hurt me and I forgave you anyway. There's nothing wrong with what you did."

A cold shiver mixed into the heat that filled Marshall's blood. The dark voice sounded close to anger, Nicolas's strength morphing into a threat, but Marshall needed to push through. He knew, this was the correct answer. "I don't deserve your forgiveness." He pushed his body up and came to sit on the couch, almost sat on Nicolas's knees. He felt his boyfriend's breath on his shoulders, that's how close they were. If he leaned back just a tiny bit, their bodies would touch all over, he'd feel the muscular body against his own and maybe Nicolas would put his arms all around him. But Marshall didn't lean back, he hadn't earned this touch. So, he only looked over his shoulder to his boyfriend. "I won't change. I promised myself I would, that without alcohol and without drugs, I'd be a different person. But I ain't." Still the hands lay on his ass, stroking the sides and a deep hum filled Marshall's cells. A shiver, as he tried to not lean in.

Nicolas furrowed his brows. "I thought, you like it. Like, being so permissive and … I mean, you are pretty needy."

Another blush underneath the smeared make-up. "I do and I don't", Marshall confessed in a low hush. Wasn't this exactly his dilemma? "But I promised myself, I would change and I didn't. That's what I did wrong this year." He needed to change but he couldn't. Even know, talking serious with his boyfriend, Marshall couldn't hold back the hand stroking his wanting dick. Needy couldn't be more true.

Nicolas put a kiss on Marshall's shoulder and the nape of his neck. His nose pushed at the silver collar. Down the slim body Nicolas's hands stroked forward from the ass cheeks and along the thighs, it sent a hot flash into Marshall's groin. The need only growing. "Is it? Or shouldn't you've made this promise in the first place?"

The puff of warm air hitting his skin when Nicolas spoke and the dark voice too close to his ears again, there was another buzz in his throat and Marshall couldn't hold back any longer. He leaned against his boyfriend, felt the warm, muscular chest against his back and sighed with pleasure, felt the hard cock against his ass and moaned with lust. Without a thought his legs spread wide apart, a silent plea for Nicolas's hands to not only gently stroke his thighs, but to touch his aching erection. Marshall's own hand wasn't enough. "I want to be a better person?" He grinded his ass against the hard cock behind him and moaned a curse. Much better, but it wasn't enough. The cock should be inside him, now. Why wasn't it?

"Do you?" Rough fingertips rubbed over Marshall's sack.

"Yes", a whiny, shaky syllable. He wanted Nicolas to fuck him, right here right now. The tip of the his boyfriend's cock was deliciously teasing his ass crack, as he grinded against him. If only he could get it inside him. Or anything, really. A dick, a toy, a finger, just something to stuff his hole. Even if it was somebody else's dick or toy or finger, Marshall wouldn't care as long as his hole got stuffed already. A groaned, firm exhale, "No."

Suddenly, a hand grabbed around the painted neck and the blond hair of the wig, the collar scratched his skin and Marshall let out a moan of surprise. A hard push down and his face was pressed into the couch cushion, muffling his voice and the moan. His dick twitched with excitement at the harsh handling, but his own hand jerking it had to let got, had to catch Marshall's body from pure falling.

"You haven't earned my permission", Nicolas reminded him.

Marshall swallowed hard, the collar tight and the ring around his junk even tighter. Another curse. This wasn't enough. "C'mon", he whimpered into the cushion. His fingers shook with tension, wanting back on his dick but shouldn't. Rather, he followed the direction of Nicolas's grip fully and laid down flat on the couch. He interlocked his fingers in the back of his neck, catching strands of the wig between them. "How much longer?" Could Nicolas see him speaking?

"The faster you answer, the faster you cum." Nicolas's hands wandered back to the sensitive ass again. A loud, sensual moan from Marshall, as he scraped fingernails across the cheeks. "Sixth question: Tell me about three things you did wrong this year. And don't make me repeat myself again."

Marshall shook his head, a desperate groan in the back of his throat. Hadn't he told already what he done wrong this year? The cushion threw his labored breath back at him.

Kisses smothered his ass. "That you're a slut-"

"Hmm." Hearing the dark voice say this word, the slightly too long vowel and the soft hiss of the consonant, made all of Marshall's body tremble in a wave of lust.

"-is nothing wrong. You're my adorable slut", and Nicolas spread the cheeks apart and placed a kiss on the hole, "and that's a good thing."

Marshall moaned loudly and his ass came up for more. Keeping in the spirit of this night, the thin lips kissed and bit the flesh of his cheeks, a wet tongue licking across the skin covered in sweat. Palms cupped the curve of his ass and fingers kneaded the muscle as if their lives depended on it. It certainly felt like it. A hot tremble, a lustful prickle rushed through Marshall and he needed more.

A pinch to one cheek. "I'm waiting."

His throat was dry and he swallowed hard to gather his thoughts and to gather control over his mouth. Marshall felt the silver collar scrape against the skin of his neck. His mind immediately zeroed in on the ring around his junk, tightly and securely holding on to him and he needed to push past it, but only pushed his leaking dick into the couch. Not enough. His nails dug into his own hands, tensely clinging to each other. "I-aah … uhm, I ruined Hailie's dress. Like I, hmm, ripped it … by accident."

With a strong grip, Nicolas stretched the cheeks apart and his hole twitched with anticipation. Finally, something be inside him. But the thin lips put a kiss on it.

Not enough to satisfy Marshall's growing impatience. A disappointed huff was his answer to this little gesture. "C'mon", he begged once more and wiggled his ass. How was Nicolas not yet fucking him? He was just as hard, goddammit.

Another kiss on the circular muscle, then a tongue licking along the rim and mouthing wet kisses to this sensitive bit of his body. Sometimes, almost by accident but very much on purpose, the tongue or the lips grazed the hole with a loving touch. Every new contact sent hot flashes of lust into Marshall's bloodstream and salacious sounds left him.

"Ahh-and, uhm … I was really mean to Dre about … oh God", Marshall moaned. The rough tip of a thumb massaged his hole and pushed slowly inside. Finally! Not enough. Marshall pushed against the pressure, needing more. "About the album. Like, he worked hard … yeah, hard and I, hmm, dismissed that pretty heartless." But Marshall had apologized quickly. Andre had been his friend so long, a little spat between them didn't last. If only Nicolas would work as hard in his hole now.

But the thumb took its time to push inside him and linger or to rub against the rim and shake his body. Only playing it would fill him out, but never doing so. The thumb pressed inside him again and again, enjoying the push past the muscle, enjoying exactly the point of opening it.

Marshall's interlocked hands shook as they tried to stay put. One more, he needed to tell one more thing that went wrong this year, only one more. Then, Nicolas would fuck him properly. Marshall inhaled deeply, the cushion felt damp under his face. His breath and spit and sweat and tears and make-up manifesting his need in the real world, but it didn't bring a dick inside him. Not yet, only one more. "There's this thing in … somewhere, on tour and aah-I did a stupid prank and Paul got angry and … and … and …" A lewd moan was his conclusion.

Nicolas's fingertips dug into the ass cheeks, the thumb pushed deep inside the hole, all of it. A jolt burned through his body. The strong grip was harsh and turned Marshall on even more. "Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed.

A sigh of relief left Marshall. He had past, God knew how, but he had. Finally, Nicolas would fuck him properly.

"Seventh question-"

And Marshall groaned, his body quivered. "Mean fucker", he panted.

"Seventh question", Nicolas started again and the grin was audible in every too long syllable. A shiver ran up Marshall's spine. "What do you want from a relationship?"

Surprised, Marshall looked over his shoulder and his interlocked hands parted. "What?", he asked out of breath. Wasn't this a weird question? One of the words was weird, but his mind was slow to wrap itself around them. The last one, that tripped him up, didn't it?

Nicolas returned the look silently. The thumb still pushed deeply into the twitching hole, moving inside slowly but so, so enjoyable and Marshall just wanted to close his eyes and enjoy.

But he couldn't, the words knocked at his mind. He held the eye contact for a moment and propped himself up on his elbows. "This _is_ horny therapy." Huh, would you look at that.

A shrug. "You never answer my questions otherwise."

"So, you sex me up?" That felt weird. A little wrong maybe? He ran a hand over his face and it felt all sticky. With a short gesture, he took the tiara out and pulled the wig off his head. He ran a hand over his short hair, still not soothing. Couldn't Nicolas just fuck him already? This wasn't complicated.

The hand on his ass was still stroking him gently, the thumb still moving in and out of his hole slowly. Nicolas smirked. "I also have sex questions, so."

"You can just ask like normal", Marshall huffed, but it didn't sound as annoyed as he meant it. Admittedly, he was a bit confused and didn't like it one bit. All he wanted was the hot, hard, handsome cock of his boyfriend in his hole. He wanted to cum, if Nicolas would just push a little deeper or just a little harder or just a little longer, he probably would even without the cock. "Fuck, man", he panted and rubbed his hands over his face again. Although, with the ring on, maybe he wouldn't.

"But it's more fun like this, don't you think?" His hands kneaded the trembling flesh of Marshall's ass and he pushed his other thumb into the hole as well. Like this, he pulled the cheeks apart and pulled the hole wider.

The pleasured sound from Marshall's mouth agreed for him, his brain flatlining for a hot second. How could he get this fucking cock into his fucking hole? This wasn't a hard puzzle to solve: a hard dick needed to go into an open hole. He was rock-hard and wide open, the solution couldn’t be more obvious. All on its own his body melted against Nicolas’s thumbs inside him. Why did he want to know what Marshall thought about relationships? Too complicated to figure that out now. "Of course I want a relationship", he muttered breathless and his head fell down to rest on his arms. "I-hmm … I want someone to love, to be close with, be myself with and, hmm … and to share my life with, to love 'em and care for 'em … ahh-and make 'em happy." His words started to slur, they whirled around in his ears in the same swirl that heat and lust did.

A tongue dipped inside the hole. "You're really romantic."

"Shut up", Marshall wheezed.

He chuckled quietly. "Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed.

Marshall let out a shaky breath. "Will you fuck me now?"

"Eighth question", Nicolas replied, "Do you like my collar?"

"Yes!", Marshall almost yelled, a quick and empathic answer and he even managed to nod. Glad, this was such an easy question.

A moment of silence, only his own panting was in his ears. Then, "Why?" and the thumbs left him. His hole was alone again. Marshall rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes, the fake lashes soft against his skin. "Just fuck me", he whispered desperately. A deep inhale. He had to answer Nicolas's questions correctly. "'Cause it's hot, and it's you." Was that correct?

"Hot? Very eloquent." At least Nicolas hadn't left all of him and Marshall wiggled his ass. If Nicolas had time to mock him, he had time to fuck him. The move made him groan again, his dick caught between himself and the couch, the fabric rubbing against him. He pushed his arm underneath, thrusting his dick into his own fist and it felt better, but wasn't enough. The ring pushed back. His other hand reached behind him, grabbing his ass and pushed a finger into the hole and it felt better, but wasn't enough. Almost.

"That's still a no, Ice Princess", Nicolas explained.

A high-pitched whine came out of Marshall and it took everything he had, to take his hands back. He needed the correct answer. "It's … It's you and hot and strong and, and possessive and pretty and … please, fuck me." His boyfriend was watching him like he always did, intently and heedfully. Nicolas knew that Marshall was coming undone.

"Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed. Comfortingly he rubbed Marshall's ass cheeks. "Two more questions. Can you do that?"

Marshall nodded unsteady. His blood was pulsing against the ring, his breath was knocking against the collar. He was Nicolas's, fulfilling his wishes was the least he could do. It was the only thing he could do for Nicolas to fill him.

A tender kiss to his lower back. "Ninth question: How do you like sex the best?" A tip cold and wet against his hole pushed inside him slowly. A long, savoring moan from Marshall. A toy was worlds better than emptiness.

"When you fuck me." Easy answer. Now would be perfect, a dick was worlds better than a toy.

Another low chuckle. "I meant, any favorite toys or positions or something?" The toy pushed deeper inside, all its length burrowing into his hole. A welcome feeling, finally he was full with something.

"Handcuffs", just as immediate, just as easy. As endorsement his hands quivered and twitched to stay put, gripping hard at the cushion. Probably they wouldn't help him cum anyway. His whole body tense with lust and heat oozing from every pore and need prickling through his body, how could a hand help with that? The toy barely did, filling out his hole and he still needed more. For a moment it didn't move, but Marshall didn't need to adjust, he needed to be fucked.

"You like bondage?", Nicolas asked with mild surprise. Just as slowly, he dragged the toy backwards again, out of Marshall again and as much as he loved the drag and the friction and the feeling of something moving inside of him, he hated the thought of being empty again. But the toy was nice to him, it didn't quite leave him. The tip stayed, before it pushed back inside.

Marshall shook his head slightly. "Just my hands", and he wiggled his fingers for emphasize. "Ju-aah … It's better, when I can't do anything", he hurried through the sentence. That his moans interrupted him every other word was becoming annoying. The faster he answered, the faster he'd cum, the faster Nicolas would fuck him for real. He needed his boyfriend inside. It was Christmas after all, that was his gift.

"Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed.

Marshall breathed a sigh of relief. Only one question left. A cry of pleasure and his whole body trembled, as the toy tipped against his prostate. Almost. His balls taut, it was growing unbearable. But for Nicolas he would. His boyfriend should be proud of him, of his Ice Princess. He was Nicolas's adorable slut, that meant something.

"Tenth question: What's the kink you enjoy the most?" The toy dragged itself slowly against the walls, pushing in, pulling out, filling him up. "Or like a favorite sex fantasy, maybe a porn trope, those kinds of things", Nicolas added as a bit of explanation when Marshall didn't answer.

He clutched his short hair tightly, tried to at least, but it wasn't really long enough. Only one answer left. What fantasy he had … "Uhm, people", he gasped as the toy suddenly jerked. "Like, different people, at once."

"You mean, an orgy?"

"Not really", he shook his head, unsure if he'd said the words. "More like a gang bang … like, hmm, I'm the center and they take turns to, to fill me u-aah." He shoved his ass against the toy, needed thrusts.

A hand kneaded his ass cheek, but this pushed him down again. "Like what, some guys standing in line to fill your holes?", Nicolas asked amused. "You ever made that true?"

Marshall nodded, his moans absorbed the yes.

"With handcuffs, too?"

Another nod, "Yes", more a hiss than a word. "It's good, like … ahh-I can't do anything wrong, and - and it's a bit like on stage, too", Marshall tried to explain, even though he wasn't sure what words to use. The toy was still too slow but there, pushing in, pulling out, filling him up. A thing deep inside him, morphing into all his needs. Not all, just one, just the shadow of the real thing. Marshall reached his hand back, his fingers searching for Nicolas's cock. Why didn't he have his fun with Marshall? That was what he was here for, to be fucked. "Just guys fucking me, like with the daydream."

"What daydream?", Nicolas asked curious.

Marshall's hand wouldn't reach the cock. An exasperated groan. How could he be Nicolas's adorable slut, if Nicolas didn't have fun with him? This wasn't right. His breath was shallow. "At the strip club", he answered. He needed to answer the questions correctly. The only good he could do for his boyfriend in this moment. "Waited and dreamed that Ryan would fuck me … and Worick would fuck me … and Striker would fuck me … and it was all you. Every dick was yours, hmm, I's tied up and y'all fucked me, reckless, ruthless … Loved it." Another delighted moan interrupted him, the toy hit the spot again and his whole body arched. The heat in his veins was full with urgency and heaviness. Almost. "Correct?" Was Nicolas happy with him?

"Good, that's a pass", Nicolas affirmed and placed another kiss on his lower back. "You passed them all, Ice Princess, and you earned my permission." He leaned over Marshall, their bodies touching everywhere but Nicolas's cloths were still in the way. Only the hot, hard, handsome cock pressed into his back naked. A kiss to Marshall's neck and Nicolas asked right into his ear: "How you wanna cum?"

A deep, lewd groan from his throat. His ears were too hot and the couch underneath his face was all damp and sticky. From the corner of his eye he looked to Nicolas, but his vision was blurry. "Fuck me", his voice hoarse. That's all he wanted. Needed. A rough fingertip rubbed over his bottom lip, the thin skin too sensitive. Marshall's tongue darted out. Exactly. "Fuck my face", a breathless plea.

Nicolas kissed his temple. "You are my adorable slut."

A short nod and he closed his eyes, his energy dipping with the knowledge they were close. Just a few more seconds and Nicolas would finally fuck him. Marshall only wanted to make him happy, as a good slut would do. What had he done all night?

Nicolas's warm hand stroked through his short hair and a satisfied hum was in Marshall's chest. A low click and vibration started, a surprised yelp and Marshall's hips thrust into the couch. Almost. But he clenched his teeth and held back. Not like this, he needed Nicolas's cock first.

The warm hand kept petting his head, then Nicolas stood up from the couch. He moved over to Marshall's face and held him up by his jaw. Their eyes met for a second and Marshall was amazed, how fine his boyfriend looked with flushed cheeks and the thin lips bright red, standing agape. But his gaze traveled down quickly to the cock so desperate for his attention. He was equally desperate for it. It deserved every waking thought. He opened his mouth for Nicolas to thrust into.

A rough thumb stroked over his bottom lip again. "You're beautiful, Ice Princess." The tip slid inside his mouth, his lips closed around the hard member and Marshall closed his eyes. He trusted Nicolas to direct him, because he had trouble enough holding himself up on his arms. Of course he wanted to be good for his boyfriend, but his was always forgiving when Marshall did wrong.

A relieved sigh from Nicolas's mouth, the dark voice filled with relish.

Marshall's heart jumped at the sound since it meant he did good enough. The cock was hard and hot and pulsing in his mouth, the moan only felt in his chest. Intently he focused on his lips sealing around the swollen flesh and his throat relaxing for Nicolas to go as deep as he wanted to. The hand that petted through his hair, grabbed tight and guided his head back and forth, the pace harsh with every thrust and filled his mouth more each time. Just as full as his hole was, vibration and lust overwhelming his mind. His own dick too hard in his fist, jerking it. Too close. Nicolas hit the back of his throat, his muscles tensed reflexively. Finally the tension shot past the ring, orgasm hitting so hard Marshall felt like tearing apart. A helpless cry left his throat and his body buckled under the force. His vision whited out or this might be Nicolas's cum hitting his face, the dark voice groaning in pleasure and the sound reverberated through Marshall as he rode it out.

He collapsed on the couch. His muscles twitched and trembled with the echo of ecstasy and Marshall whimpered with the vibration deep inside him, the toy still filling his hole. He wanted it there, but this was too raw.

Softly his head was petted and Nicolas's husky voice was full with affection. "You did so good, Ice Princess. I couldn't wish for a better slut." A kiss on his lips.

_Nicolas is happy_, the last thought Marshall had this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing has slowed down (or the chapters get more complicated, who knows) and I won't be able to observe my regular upload schedule anymore.
> 
> As a little compensation I make y'all an offer: You can suggest me prompts. Maybe you have a cute date idea for the guys or something fun for the girls to do or some slutty crossdressing for Marshall or you need more of Nicolas beating people up or if I dropped a theme somewhere you want to revisit - Just drop it in the comments. 
> 
> @innerartisanfan You're suggestion of them watching Frozen is already in my notes app. Just, it's gonna take some time for three years to pass.


	51. Spilled Nut Ain't Nothin' To Cry Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their second day of Christmas and Nicolas and Marshall have some fun in the snow. But they also have to talk about the future of their relationship. What does a second chance for them mean?

Marshall felt content in the gray darkness of his waking. His body was heavy and warm, muscles relaxed and mind at ease. The soft pillow under his head asked to sleep just a little longer and the cushy duvet around him agreed, but Marshall was coming awake slowly. Enjoyable. Whenever he had a morning like this, quiet and gentle, he wished this could last. A prolonged feeling of good, that would be a fine basis for life. Though he low-key knew, he'd shrivel in an environment like that. Right now was perfect. Marshall nestled deeper into the embrace, the arm around him comforting and the warm body behind him a delight.

Eventually, he blinked his eyes open. Bright morning light illuminated the room and the blue sky spread out in the window. He liked the color of clear winter skies the most. The promise of a good day. A light touch to the nape of his neck, a lingering kiss and Marshall smiled because of it. A morning this peaceful and with his boyfriend no less felt like wonder coming true. Marshall turned on his back and with the movement metal rubbed at his neck. He still wore the collar. Raising a hand, his fingertips touched the silver with its embedded gem stones. The smile stayed as he looked at his boyfriend. »Mornin'.«

Nicolas nodded in reply, his black eyes watching intently as always and with shadows underneath. »You feel good?«, he asked with a free hand, the other half stuck between them.

Marshall kissed the thin lips for a long moment. He felt better than good.

»You deserve it, you did so good last night.« Nicolas's rough fingertips ghosted over his arm. »I'm so proud of you.«

His cheeks heated up. »Don't mention it.« The memory of last night was filled with arousal and it tugged at his groins. The hard dick in his mouth, the vibration in his butt, all those kisses in between and the unleashed moans, the revealing words, him yielding over his orgasm. That was something to be proud of? Bashful he rubbed over his eyes, but with astonishment he noticed the make-up was gone. Focusing on it, all his body was clean and fresh, no sweat or other stickiness. »Did you clean me up?« Because he hadn't, Marshall was sure.

Nicolas nodded in reply, as if this went without saying.

Another smile on Marshall's lips and another kiss for his boyfriend. Despite his mean grin and his grim expression, Nicolas was a really nice person. Too nice sometimes, but right now Marshall was just grateful. »Thanks.« Interestingly, Nicolas could be mean and nice at the same time, as last night proved. Asking him all those questions and making him weak with all those kisses. As if Marshall stood any chance against his boyfriend with an attack like that, making him spill his secrets just to cum. »You don't have to do that, you know.« A gentle push maybe helped to not have to go through this again. »If you wanna know something, just ask.«

Nicolas smirked. »You avoid answers like the plague.«

»No, I don't.« He flicked against the other's chest.

»Really?« Nicolas raised his eyebrows skeptical. »You'd just tell me, you wanna be a sex slave? Just like that?«

The blush was hot all over his face and his ears and his neck. Marshall shook his head vehemently. »Of course not! Who would want that? Don't be ridiculous. I never said anything like that. Nope.« There was this tug in his groins again.

The black eyes looked at him unimpressed.

»I never said anything about sex slaves«, Marshall doubled down. He hit Nicolas's chest with his fist, more defensive than with strength. »Don't be absurd. I don't live in porn and besides, that wouldn't be my role anyway.« Images of his daydream flickered across his mind: Him bound and at their mercy, a dick in every hole and one waiting in line. Marshall swallowed hard. Memories bubbling up of a night similar like that, but true. He had to look away from his boyfriend, ashamed.

»It's okay.« His half stuck hand grabbed for Marshall's and interlocked their fingers, squeezing slightly. His other hand still spoke: »Kinda makes sense and, y'know, it's a little hot. Everyone has their fantasy.«

Oh God, couldn't the ground just open up and swallow him? Marshall buried his face in his free hand. He certainly didn't want to know in what fucking way this made sense to Nicolas. Kinky motherfucker.

Lips pressed against his hand and Marshall peeked through his fingers. »It's okay, really. You don't have to talk about it, just … Just be careful, okay? People are dangerous.« There was a hint of worry in the lines of Nicolas's face.

Marshall huffed sulky. »I know, what I'm doing«, and he puffed himself up. He wasn't a naive kid anymore, he could take care of himself. »Anyway, you don't have the right to ask me shit that way. If I don't wanna tell you normal, I sure as shit don't wanna tell you like that.« They needed to get back on track with his actual point.

»But shouldn't I know?«, asked Nicolas back.

Marshall looked at him confused. What about those questions needed to be known? »I tell you, when you need to know something.«

»No, you don't.« Nicolas ran a hand through his black hair, messy from sleep. »Look, I don't wanna know your secrets or anything, that's your business. But shouldn't I know how you like sex? Or where you wanna be touched? That's not deep, but a bit important, don't you think?«

Marshall sat up and pulled the duvet over his lap. "So? Find out by trial and error, like everybody else does." No reason to be this sneaky.

»I did and you broke up with me«, Nicolas explained. He sat up himself and crossed his legs. »Or you-«

"That's totally different", Marshall interrupted him using his voice to be louder than his boyfriend. "I cheated on you, that has nothing to do with how I like sex or whatever."

Nicolas reached out and stroked over Marshall's shin, but the fabric of the blanket was like a wall between them. »It has, 'cause that's how you like sex. You said it yourself last night, you like sex with different people. Hence, you cheat.«

"Don't even start!", he burst out. "You can't force me to tell you shit and then use it against me. You tricked me!"

»I wanna know you«, Nicolas explained calmly. »But at times, that's a bit difficult. Like, when you get all moody on me again and that's fine, but it's also a bit much at times. Know what I mean?«

"I ain't fucking moody!" Marshall jumped from the bed. "Fucking asshole", he growled. With rushed movements, he slipped into his boxer shorts. Being naked now didn't feel right. Why were they fighting again?

Nicolas rubbed his neck for a second. The gesture had a sense of uncertainty. »My point is, I want our time to be enjoyable and sometimes I have questions about that. You don't like to talk about these things, so I thought I make it fun.«

"You're a sneaky bastard, that's what you did." Hopefully the accusing tone was obvious to his boyfriend.

Nicolas only shrugged.

What was he to answer to that? Marshall rubbed his hands over his face. "Why we fight all the time?" That was the last thing he wanted to do. To the contrary, all he wanted was to lie in Nicolas's arms and enjoy this quiet morning. Was that too much to ask? Hadn't Nicolas said, he deserved it? Didn't feel like it.

"C'mere", the husky voice filled out the room. Nicolas winked him over, an arm away but it seemed like too far.

Marshall bit his bottom lip but stayed in place. Feelings of weakness and unworthiness and dread he couldn't assign to anything, welled up inside him. Why was he always fucking things up? Even a nice morning on Christmas eve he fucked up. Why was he angry? Wasn't like Nicolas had asked for his darkest secrets, only about what he liked in bed and what he'd done this year. Nothing big. Why was he so cagey with Nicolas? He was his fucking boyfriend, for fuck's sake! If someone was entitled to this information, it was him. In his songs, Marshall had no problem talking about sex fantasies and fetishes, and talking with his friends about some broad he had picked up was the easiest thing in the world. But with Nicolas he couldn't and drove his boyfriend to desperate measures like these. Why were they even a couple?

A strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him against Nicolas. The hug close and deep. "I'm with you."

The temptation to bury his face in the crook of Nicolas's neck was too big to resist, so Marshall just followed his impulse. He pressed himself into Nicolas's arms and savored the warmth his boyfriend radiated and the strength with which those arms held him close. Was any of this worth fighting about? Nothing seemed worth to break this moment.

They dropped back onto the bed again and Nicolas pulled the blanket over them. Lying close with each other was all this moment needed to be, only feeling each other's presence through their skin. A rough hand stroked over his hair and Marshall hummed low.

"Drink?", Nicolas asked and his voice disturbed the silence of the room, disturbed the fantasy that they weren't fighting.

Marshall looked up to the bedside table, a bottle with a red liquid inside stood there. He had a strong hunch, this was a mix of cherry and strawberry juice. A small nod, so he wouldn't say anything stupid again and maybe break this moment for good. What would fighting even achieve? Sitting up again, he drank the slightly bitter juice and it left a fresh taste in his mouth. Couldn't they start this morning over? It had began so nice, downright peaceful. He didn't want to fuck this up. "How 'bout breakfast?", he asked low. Marshall wanted to stay here and lay in bed all day, cuddle with his boyfriend and plainly enjoy their time together, but he wasn't build for this and only fucked it up, as proven. And since they met so sporadicly, shouldn't they make the most out of the little time they had?

Nicolas shrugged, he didn't seem to care either way.

A none answer was still an answer. Marshall drank half the bottle empty and put it back on the bedside table. Should he tell Nicolas, he drank other stuff as well? Didn't he already know? But it was a nice gesture. Nicolas apparently liked cute things after all and just hid his nice side behind this mean grin he had. Marshall stretched his arms out and wrung the last bits of tiredness out of his body. Hopefully the foul mood would go away as well. Did he want to be one of the cute things Nicolas liked? Not a thought to get into right now. »How come, you always know what I'm sayin'?«, he asked instead.

Nicolas tilted his head questioningly.

»Like«, Marshall tried to clarify, »I'm pretty sure last night, there've been moments when you couldn't see my face. How you read my lips when you can't see them?« He had buried his face in the couch cushions a good amount of time, Nicolas couldn't have possibly seen and read his lips then. Still, the man had carried on their conversation no problem.

»I don't.« Another shrug.

Marshall blinked puzzled. »What now?« Wasn't that how this worked?

»You're not hard to read«, Nicolas explained, kind of. »You're pretty much an open book. You try not to, but you are. It's really easy.«

He shouldn't have asked. »Open book?« Marshall couldn't not ask.

»You talk with your whole body.«

Was that a good thing? Marshall doubted that sincerely.

»Besides«, Nicolas went on, »Isn't like you say some new mind blowing stuff or something absolutely shocking or whatever. It's pretty much the same three or five things on repeat.«

»I'm boring?« Marshall felt a tad bit offended by that.

Nicolas grinned his patented mean grin. »Just sayin', you obsess over the same old shit. That isn't hard to follow.«

Marshall flipped his boyfriend off. »I show you same old shit.« He came up with tons of new stuff to say, Nicolas needed to be careful what he wished for. He got out of the bed and had already some lines in his mind. So, he spit: "Shirt off my back? I wouldn’t give you the dirt off my handkerchief. I’m givin' these hoes a dose of their own medicine. Let 'em get a good taste of it. I’m sure you got that relationship memo by now, but in case you didn't, I'ma stick this whole pad full of sticky notes to your forehead and staple it. Life is too short and I got no time to sit around just wastin' it, so I pace this shit a little bit quicker, that clock I'm racin' it, double timing it, but I still spit triple the amount of insults in a tenth of the time that it may take you pricks to catch on. While you strong arm, I'm like Stretch Armstrong. Man, I still say K-Mart's like there's an apostrophe 's' on it, dawg. And they say McDonald's isn’t a restaurant, well I guess I’m wrong. But if you're gonna tell me that the A&W ain't the spot for the best hot dogs, you can get the F on, dawg."

Nicolas burst out in laughter. He rolled on the bed, that's how hard he was laughing. His gestures hard to decipher, but _idiot_ was fairly clear.

Marshall got the next words stuck in his throat. Highly irritated, he looked at his boyfriend with a mean glare. Asshole, threw him for a loop like this.

In principle, Marshall loved to see his boyfriend laugh. Especially this hard and freely was a lovely sight and it didn't matter that Marshall was the butt end of the joke. The dark voice laughing dissolved the tension in Marshall's shoulders and sparked his own smile. Okay, he was a bit of an idiot, admittedly, and he did say a lot of the same things at times. Didn't everybody? He leaned on the bed with one knee. "Okay, chuckles, you won. Now let's get some breakfast." He tapped against Nicolas's shin with a prompting flick.

Looking at the time, it wasn't exactly breakfast anymore. Oh well, who cared? Marshall slipped into sweatpants and a hoodie, and splashed some water in his face. When he came down the stairs into the open plan living room, he had to briefly check on the couch. "Huh", he muttered surprised. No stains on the fabric, not from his make-up nor from anything else he might've, definitely, had rubbed into it last night. The couch was as good as new.

Nicolas came down the stairs after him, stretching his limbs out and yawning widely.

»Did you clean the couch, too?«, Marshall asked curious. Or did an elf now live here?

»Was easier than getting blood out of my shirts«, Nicolas explained blasé. Walking past Marshall to the low coffee table, he took the newly gifted book from it and made his way into the kitchen. Totally missing Marshall's stunned face.

Sometimes, he forgot what his boyfriend did for a living besides being security at a club, but then Nicolas said something like this. A last look to the stainless couch, easier to clean than blood, huh? Shrugging to himself, Marshall left for the kitchen. His goal was pancakes, not racking his brains over the life of the hitman who fucked him on the regular.

With focus, Marshall began to putter around: taking the dough out of the fridge, getting a pan on the stove, setting up a plate for the stack and most importantly, frying the pancakes.

But his hitman didn't actually fuck him all that regular. Marshall leaned against the counter, waiting to turn the pancake. He watched Nicolas.

His boyfriend sat at the table, cargo pants and a black t-shirt - the same from last night or did he have an assortment of the same clothes to chose from? - and read his new book. Strands of black hair fell into one of his eyes, the shadows underneath never not there and the black eyes crossed over the lines of text like waves breaking on a shore. A chain with dog tags hung around his neck.

Why wasn't Nicolas taking what was rightfully his? A good question. Most of the time when they met, nothing sexy or arousing was happening and even if it did, usually there wasn't enough time or space for anything big. Just a quickie, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. But last night they'd taken all the time in the world and Nicolas had showered him with all the attention, yet his boyfriend hadn't gotten what he deserved. An extensive, intensive experience like this and Nicolas hadn't taken his due. He could've made Marshall reciprocate all of the kisses and touches, could've made Marshall serve him and tend to Nicolas's every whim. But no, all he took was a lousy blowjob.

Nicolas looked up and their eyes met. He cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

Instantly, Marshall turned back to the stove and the pancakes. One was done, next one to make.

All Nicolas had done was making Marshall feel hot and horny and high. Again. Their first intense night had been pretty much the same: Nicolas got a blowjob and the rest of the night was spent driving Marshall wild, with too much success. Why wasn't his boyfriend taking more? Not that he was complaining, Marshall got his proverbial money's worth, but it didn't feel right.

Was he doing something wrong?

Marshall watched, as Nicolas turned a page and the new one showed one of the illustrations. From his angle it was hard to see, but Marshall was sure the centre piece was a huge dick. A fantasy he could get behind.

Reminded him, he didn't know which Nicolas preferred, being the cock or the hole. Maybe, that was the problem? Marshall didn't like to admit, but he preferred to be the hole and he was sure, Nicolas knew that. Maybe, his boyfriend wanted to be nice and considered with this, too nice as so often, and followed Marshall's preferences instead of his own? They should absolutely remedy this, stat.

Again, Nicolas looked up and their eyes met. He tilted his head questioningly.

Immediately, Marshall turned back to the pan and their breakfast. This pancake was a bit dark on one side. Oops.

However, Marshall had the suspicion this wasn't the case. Nicolas was nice but also mean, so if he preferred it differently, he probably would find a way. Maybe this meant, Nicolas was satisfied this way? Didn't he once say, sex wasn't important to him? Not a mindset Marshall could imagine, but people were different sometimes. After all, his boyfriend was a hitman for a living and Marshall couldn't really imagine that either. He hoped, this was true. Although, it seemed more logical that Marshall was doing something wrong. Usually that was the answer. Should he show more effort? But how? He had practically put himself in a bow both times. Last night as Nicolas's Ice Princess, which couldn't be more on the nose how much he gave himself over and he had outright begged for Nicolas to fuck him a few times. If that wasn't putting in effort and devoting himself to his boyfriend, he didn't know what was. Same with the night at the motel, fingering himself open all for Nicolas to see and enjoy, yet his boyfriend hadn't taken it. Only a meek blowjob each time. This wasn't right.

"What you brooding over?", Nicolas's husky voice asked.

Startling Marshall. He had totally not expected him to speak. Turning around, he swallowed hard and wasn't sure, how to look at his boyfriend. Or if he should answer him. He couldn't really say this, could he? Whenever he'd complained to Kim about their sex life, it had ended in a fight. Absolutely not what he wanted now. It wasn't really a complaint anyway. If he did something wrong, shouldn't he know? How else could he improve? Marshall kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth, then decided to speak: "You're really patient during sex." That was the most diplomatic way to express this. Patience was supposed to be a good thing.

Nicolas looked at him perplexed.

"I mean-" How to explain this? He didn't want to offend his boyfriend by telling him, he was bad at sex. Which, to be clear, Nicolas definitely was great at. Marshall couldn't get enough of it, that spoke for itself. But that he didn't take his fun, weirded Marshall out a little. "I dunno, you don't seem to want much?" This was growing absurd. He could yell obscenities from a stage, but talking with his boyfriend about sex he couldn't? Whose dumb idea was this? "I mean, like last night, a blowjob ain't much, y'know. You could've gotten more out of it, much much more, but you didn't take nothing." And Marshall would've given him all the things.

Nicolas cocked his head, his expression between baffled and amused.

"It's a bit weird, don't you think?", Marshall concluded his rambling and felt a little helpless. Talking wasn't his strong suit and he didn't feel like he made his point very clear.

»No, why?«, Nicolas asked back.

Unhelpful bastard. Marshall sighed and let his shoulders hang. Fine, it wasn't important anyway. He shook his head and turned back to the pancakes. Their breakfast was almost done. So, he set the table with plates and cutlery, put syrup and their drinks - sadly without Darth Vader ice cubes - down and when the last pancake was done, the stack was served.

»I like to tease you«, Nicolas explained after the first couple bites.

Marshall huffed about that. Wasn't news to him.

Nicolas continued: »And to take you apart. When you lose your mind, that's … that's super hot.« There was something in his mean grin, Marshall couldn't put his finger on. Appreciation?

Embarrassed, Marshall stuffed his face with pancakes.

»Do you want something different?«

It was settled, he shouldn't have brought this up. How was this a conversation at breakfast? Marshall shook his head and ate another big slice of pancake, just so he didn't need to talk. He wasn't good enough at signing to do it while holding something. That's how you weaseled out of answering.

Nicolas continued eating as well, but looked at him expectantly.

Or maybe not. "No, not really", he muttered finally. Hadn't the shaking of his head answered this enough? It was the same.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows prompting. Obviously, he didn't believe that.

Sighing, Marshall ate more of his pancake to buy himself some time. But he had to swallow eventually. "Most people I meet are, uh, pretty selfish. At least, they always make sure they get off real good." Since most of the sex he had was with strangers, it made sense like this. A one-night stand wasn't about give and take, but only about taking. Probably you wouldn't see each other again, so why give anything you wouldn't get back?

»Rest assured, I get off on you plenty.«

That was a relief to know, actually. "'Kay."

»Do you like it, when people are selfish with you?«, Nicolas asked and nonchalantly ate his breakfast, as if he hadn't asked something ridiculous and without any sense of shame no less. This wasn't last night anymore.

Not that Marshall was one to talk big on the topic of shame, his was rather stunted itself. In the past, how he had behaved in private and in public provided ample proof of this, recent past included. Running around naked in public? Check. Showing his ass on stage? Check. Making a total fool of himself? Double check. Just last year, in an interview overseas he had pantomimed dicks raining down on him and how he caught them with his mouth. How the world didn't already know he was gay, was a mystery to him. Or back when he first started out, he had always clowned around, like falling down on purpose in front of a journalist and wailing loudly like a fucking toddler, next second he was doing jumping jacks - for no reason whatsoever. In retrospect, he pitied some of these journalist, who tried to interview him back then. They were just doing their job and he made an absolute circus out of it. He had grown to hate interviews and at some point, he stopped answering the questions as best he could. Wasn't interesting questions anyway. He knew, this was part of the job, but what a shitty part it was.

Nicolas looked at him with expectation. Right, his stupid, shameless question.

"This ain't no horny therapy no more, I don't need to answer you", Marshall snapped at him. Every now and then, there was a situation like this when these signals did go through to him successfully and he felt shame. Every time this happened and he remembered what shame felt like, he kinda wished he didn't.

But Nicolas only grinned in reply.

This was fucking stupid. Marshall chewed the last piece of his pancake and even though he could go for a second, he threw the knife and fork down on his plate and stood up sharply. The chair scratched on the floor. Taking the plate and the glass, he sullenly stepped over to the sink.

A moment later, two arms snuck around his body and hugged him loosely. The husky voice said close to his ear: "I already know you do … slut."

A hot shiver ran up and down Marshall's spine. He shoved his elbow into Nicolas's ribs. "Don't fucking do this!", and he wagged the fork in front of his boyfriend's face.

The grin had the color of a dark promise.

"Sit down and eat your fucking pancakes." Why were his ears so sensitive anyway? He needed to school them to stop with this shit. He turned to the sink again, undecided what to do. Clean the dishes? Nah.

But Nicolas didn't leave. His presence betrayed Marshall into leaning back against his boyfriend, who nuzzled his face into the crook of Marshall's neck. The nose moved the collar slightly. There was this warm, peaceful feeling again. The body behind him, the arms around him - an illusion of halcyon days. Too nice. Marshall sighed silently at the warm tingle on his skin. Why wasn't Nicolas taking, what was his? He grinded his ass against his boyfriend. A wordless plea, because Marshall didn't know how to say this. He never had to say this before. Offering his ass usually was enough, people greedy and lustful to take it. That's how it was supposed to be.

"If you want me to fuck you“, the dark voice whispered in his ear, "You have to earn it." The puff of air stroked the shell of his ear and the vowels just a little too long wound themselves into Marshall's brain.

He turned his head to look at his boyfriend. "Earn it?"

"I live with whores, I come from a whore - What has a little, adorable slut like you to offer that I can't use them for?" Nicolas's teeth showed, like a dog baring its fangs. A taunt.

Marshall's eyes grew big with insecurity. That was one hell of a good question he had no answer for. What was so special about him? Nothing. He was half sure, he was a pretty good fuck and his blowjobs were decent, but that didn't really match up with a skilled prostitute. Just because he got mistaken for one occasionally, didn't mean he was as good as one. Wasn't this his whole predicament? Something was missing for Nicolas to just take what he deserved, but Marshall didn't know what. Where was his effort lacking?

He turned around fully and pulled Nicolas into a deep kiss. A kiss with all his passion inside it and full with his plea to just be taken. Even if Marshall didn't deserve it, Nicolas did all the more. "It's only me", he whispered with a thin voice against the other's lips and didn't stop kissing between his words. "It's not enough, but it's all for you." At least for today he was all for Nicolas. Probably tomorrow he'd be with somebody else again, promising the same thing and not keeping that, either. If he was an actual whore, he'd at least have an excuse. But he wasn't, so he hadn't.

Was that, what was missing? Maybe Nicolas liked it better if he was a real prostitute, someone with a purpose for their licentiousness; not a wanna-be slut who opened her hole careless and random.

"Kitten?", Nicolas asked and leaned in close, a hand stroking Marshall's cheek. "You okay?"

He nodded. "I’m fine." He was always fine, just not good enough. He'd never be good enough. That's why he was divorced. That's why he slept in empty beds. That's why his fans bashed him. That's why he was a nobody.

Nicolas's thumb smeared something wet from his cheek. "You know I was only playing, right?"

Marshall sniveled, rubbing his eyes and in their corners was more wetness. These facts were an old hat, no reason to spill tears over.

"I'm sorry."

Surprised, Marshall looked into his boyfriend's face. "What for?" Nicolas had nothing to apologize for. You liked what you liked, there was nothing wrong with that. It was just a bit depressing, that Marshall wasn't his thing.

"I'm sorry", Nicolas repeated sternly. »I went a little far. I didn't mean to make you cry.«

Marshall frowned. "Oh really?", the sarcasm wasn't meant, but sometimes an untrue tone slipped out of his mouth on its own. Possible his brain was trying to tell him something, but he didn't really care.

A shrug. »I just wanted to toy with you a little? I mean, you like being called a slut and you're really hot when you get all lewd and shit … But instead I made you sad.« A warm kiss to Marshall's forehead. »Like I said, I'm still figuring you out. Ain't an easy thing.«

This guy, always saying embarrassing shit. "Or you're just bad at it."

Nicolas nodded in agreement. »Also a possibility.«

"So, you won't fuck me now?", Marshall asked, just to make sure he understood things right. Him crying wasn't really a reason not to fuck. Oddly enough, it sometimes turned the someone else on more. People were weird.

»Don't you have some other plans for today?«, Nicolas asked back.

Marshall shrugged. Did he look like a guy with a plan?

»How about«, Nicolas suggested, »We build a snowman?«

For a second, Marshall thought the sign meant 'rainman', which didn't make any sense. But 'rain' didn't waggle your fingers. "Snowman?", he snorted highly amused. "And you call me childish?"

»You are, fits rather perfectly, doesn't it?«, Nicolas replied with a smirk. »I bet, you got lots of experience.«

"I done my fair share." After all, he had three daughters and a little brother, of course he had build snowmen in the past. Not to mention his own childhood and, just, it was a fun wintertime activity and you weren't never too old for it. "You want to finish up first?", he gestured toward the table and the interrupted breakfast.

Nicolas nodded with satisfaction, the matter obviously settled: They would build a snowman. He pecked a kiss on Marshall's lips and left the kitchen. No answer was still an answer.

With a sigh, Marshall shook his head and cleaned the table. Luckily, pancakes were a fine thing any time of the day, hot or cold. He put the stack in the fridge and the dirty dishes in the washer.

A knock against the kitchen door. Nicolas stood there, wearing boots and his olive green coat. Also, he held up Marshall's winter coat and shoes. He reminded Marshall of his daughters, when they'd been young and easy to excite, so eager for him to play with them. But Nicolas was a man in his mid-thirties.

Nonetheless amused, Marshall got into his winter gear and put on thick gloves as well. It payed to be prepared. He'd be freezing when they finished the snowman, guaranteed.

They stepped out onto the snow covered patio. The backyard was silent and untouched, only footprints of small animals disturbed the white blanket. The sky above was frosty blue and clear. The air so cold, every breath made little white puffs in front of them.

Marshall clapped his gloved hands, a muffled sound but the gesture was energetic nonetheless. "Let's do this. We gon' make a great-ass snowman. A giant." He stretched his hand out high above his head, that's at least how tall it should be. As with anything: The bigger the better. Not waiting for Nicolas's approval, Marshall hurled himself into the snow and shoveled up a big, white heap of frozen water and patted it into a roundish like shape. They would need to go at least six feet high, so the base needed to be quite broad. Which meant, he had a lot of snow to shovel.

His boyfriend helped and shoved more snow on top of the heap. »Shouldn't we roll it like a ball?«, he asked and since he wasn't wearing any gloves his signs were easy for Marshall to read.

"Ain't you freezing already?", he asked and watched how Nicolas buried his unprotected hands in the snow. Just watching it, made him shiver. Concentrating back on their mission, he spread Nicolas's shove out as to not lose the roundish shape he was going for. "Rolling ain't always better. You need method, y'know."

The next shove of snow hit Marshall in the face. Nicolas's mocking grin was pretty big evidence that this was on purpose.

Not much of a surprise. Marshall wiped the snow out of his face and glared at his boyfriend with amused malice. "I get you, watch out." Quickly, he threw a handful of snow back.

But Nicolas dodged out of the way, already a new snowball in his hand.

Deciding, Shney - the snowman - had to fend for himself, Marshall ran away, further into the backyard. He needed some space between them and think up a strategy. The snowball missed him by the width of a hair. Luckily for him, he not only had experience with building snowmen, but Marshall also had been in a lot of snowball fights in his life.

Next thing you knew, a swarm of snowballs flew across the backyard, back and forth between the two men. Some hit their target, some could be dodged or outright avoided.

Marshall's strategy was simple: Offense was the best defense. With a pile of snowballs in his arms, he charged his boyfriend and threw them rapidly. It didn't matter if he hit, as long as Nicolas had no time to react. As the last snowball left his hand, he was close enough to jump his boyfriend and wrestle him to the ground.

Instead, Nicolas caught him mid-run and threw him into the snow. As he pinned him down, Nicolas pushed handfuls of frozen water down Marshall's coat.

The high-pitched yelp and uncoordinated flailing wasn't really dignified, but Marshall only cared about getting snow into his boyfriend's face. Revenge was everything.

Even more so, when Nicolas used Shney for cover. Hiding behind their snowman? What a coward move! "I'ma save you, Shney!", Marshall yelled across the backyard, himself hiding behind a bush and trying to calm his breathing. The cold air bit hard into his lungs.

Nicolas flipped him off with both hands, obvious threat display.

Not thinking twice, Marshall charged across the field of battered snow and only fended off the incoming snowballs with his arms. Feet first, he jumped directly into the big heap of snow and it exploded all over Nicolas. That he now had snow in his shoes and pants was totally worth it for Marshall, as he saw his boyfriend lying on the ground and buried beneath a white hill. "Ha, take that! Victory is mine!", and he celebrated his triumph with a dance.

Nicolas slapped his hand against his forehead, but it quickly turned into a fist with the pinky sticking up: »Idiot.« A chuckle.

"That's what a loser says." Marshall extended his hand to help his boyfriend up.

But for all his niceness, Nicolas yanked at his hand and Marshall fell on top of him. Rubbing more snow into Marshall's face, his boyfriend grinned as if to say: You lost, too. Then, he cupped his jaw with clammy fingers and they kissed. A peace offering.

Which Marshall was glad to accept, he was cold and they still hadn't build a snowman. Worse, he just destroyed the bit of snowman they had. "We need to build Shney back up", he explained as the kiss ended.

»Got a better idea«, Nicolas disagreed.

Marshall couldn't exactly say, Nicolas's idea wasn't better. Rubbing his arms in a feeble attempt to get some warmth into his body again, he looked impatient at the back of his boyfriend. He'd call the other out to hurry up, but Nicolas was solely focused on the snowmen. On the battleground that was the snowy backyard stood two snowmen just about knee high, like a memorial for the war fought on this winter beach. But Marshall was impatient, he was too cold and shaking and everything was clammy. He had already one foot in the house, but Nicolas couldn't finish up.

When the man finally stood up and presented his improvement, Marshall had to smile. It looked a little, actually a lot lopsided like this, but how their snowmen now held each other's woody hands was plain cute. Regardless, that one of the twig arms was totally out of proportion.

"You comin'?", Marshall asked and waved at his boyfriend.

Nicolas hurried over.

Finally, the warmth of the house had them back. Every winter adventure had to end at some point and they always ended the same way: a cozy blanket and hot cocoa. But first, Marshall needed to get out of his cloths. While he was walking through the house and upstairs, he took off his shoes and gloves and coat and let them be where they may and the hoodie and sweatpants followed, granted hadn’t been the wisest choice of clothing for a snowball fight. His feet found their frozen way to the bathroom and he turned on the shower lukewarm. As he looked back to give his boyfriend some room to join, he blinked puzzled. "Nicolas?", he called, but what did he expect? He left the shower again, now feeling even more wet and cold he paddled into the bedroom. Hope guiding his steps, since he had no idea where he'd lost his boyfriend coming up. "What ya doin'?"

Indeed, Nicolas stood in the bedroom half naked and rummaging through his duffle bag, presumably for new cloths. The first thing he took out was a small orange bottle with his medication inside. When he looked up, he asked: »Aren't you taking a shower?«

"You ain't?", Marshall asked back.

A shrug. »Just gonna dry up.« But the shiver and shake of his muscles was clearly visible, so was the light blue tinge of his lips and the stiffness in his limbs.

"Come in." He couldn't let his boyfriend freeze half to death.

Nicolas popped a few pills into his mouth and shrugged once more, at last he followed him back into the bathroom.

It took a while until Marshall felt like a human again instead of an icicle. He couldn't exactly tell, if he was the right warm, but he wasn't freezing anymore. That his boyfriend stood in the shower with him, was barely noticeable. Nicolas's routine was only perfunctory and functional. Was he all out of teasing? Hard to believe there was such a thing.

Dry and properly wrapped up in thick, warm sweats and a hoodie again, Marshall was quite comfy. Now was the time for hot cocoa and to let the rest of the day go by relaxed and unexcited. "Anymore childish ideas?", he asked his boyfriend as they walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Nicolas shook his head and sat back down at the table. His hand already reached out for the book.

For a moment Marshall watched him skeptical, questioning the choice of garment: a tank top - black unsurprisingly - and some light sweatpants. The house was warm, sure, but it was winter for fuck's sake. A shrug and Marshall stepped to the counter and turned to the task at hand: making them some hot chocolate.

While he waited for the milk to heat up, he got them the pancakes out of the fridge and put them on the table, a selection of syrup, different jellies and spray cream as well. Munching on the sweet treat, he finished up their cocoa.

Meanwhile, Nicolas read his book and was already a third done with it. Speed reading much? He only put it to the side, when the steaming cup was set in front of him. »I have a suggestion«, he announced.

Marshall cocked his head. Didn't he say, no more childish ideas for today? Blowing into his cocoa for better consumption, he waited for the rest of the sentence.

»How about we try an open relationship?«

Shocked, Marshall spluttered into his cocoa and cursed about the hot liquid burning his tongue. "Fuck!" He put the cup down hard on the table. "Are you crazy? Hell no!"

»Hear me out«, Nicolas requested.

"Fuck no!", Marshall barked back and vehemently shook his head. "What a stupid idea is that even? The fuck we will! That's completely and utterly out of the question. No way in hell I'ma agree to that!" Why would Nicolas even suggest such a thing? He could just as well break up with him for good.

Nicolas looked unimpressed by the outburst. »Let's talk about it. There's no harm in that.«

"Fuck you!", Marshall cursed him out. "If you wanna fuck around, you gotta break up with me first, fucking asshole." Sure, he wasn't much of a boyfriend, Marshall knew that, but this was truly mean even for Nicolas's standards.

Nicolas took a cautious nip from his cocoa. »It's not about me, but for you.«

"The hell it ain't!" Marshall jumped out of the chair barking his words, he wanted to punch something, someone. All he could do was pace around a few steps. "I don't fucking want that! You hear me? I don't fucking want this! It's bad enough as it is, you don't need to make it worse. I know I hurt you, but this ain't the solution. If anything, that's just life support for a relationship already dead. Either we do this right or we don't do it all. Open relationship, fucking stupid shit."

Thoughtful, Nicolas's eyes followed him pacing. »It's just an idea. If it doesn't fit, it doesn't fit.«

"It's a shitty idea", Marshall snarled. "I ain't doing that, no talk needed. My answer is no. How can you even bring this up? Don't you tell me all the fucking time, how much you fucking like me? Fuck you! Obviously, you really really don't. Let's just end it."

But Nicolas shook his head calmly. »No.«

"What?" Marshall blinked surprised. "How can you say no? You just had the most batshit idea and you tell me no? At least my idea is practical, fucking jerk."

Nicolas gestured toward the empty chair. »We already had the chance to break up and didn't take it. What's the harm in talking about, how to make this relationship work?«

"Not with that!", Marshall didn't give an inch.

Nicolas repeated the gesture toward the empty chair. »Why not?«

"Why not? Such a stupid question!" Marshall threw his hands up in frustration. Nicolas couldn't be serious! "'Cause that ain't a relationship, you moron. You can't base a relationship on cheating! Believe me, I know. That ain't a relationship, that's just … That's just a glorified booty call, basically."

Again, Nicolas gestured for him to sit down. »If it was open, it wouldn't be cheating. That's the whole point.«

"Of course it's cheating!", Marshall disagreed profoundly. "It's always cheating."

»Let's talk about it and find out, okay? If you don't like it, we don't have to do it.« Nicolas took another cautious sip from his cocoa.

Marshall shook his head again and crossed his arms. "I don't like it, I already know. There's no need for talking. Fucker."

Nicolas looked at him silently.

Grumbling, Marshall finally sat down again, still with crossed arms. He abso-fucking-lutely was not agreeing to this. An open relationship was as good as no relationship, end of story. "Fine, talk."

But instead, Nicolas took a piece of pancake and ate it, another sip from his cocoa. Only after that, did he sign again. »I was thinking about this, because of what you said. You told me, repeatedly, that you will continue to sleep with other people. Yes?"

More bitter grumbling, but ashamed Marshall averted his eyes for a moment. He had said that and he would do that. "I'm trying to be better", he defended himself and knew it was a lie.

»I don't want you to.«

"What?" Had he seen the signs correctly? He must've missed something or mixed them up again, rainman - snowman.

»I thought about this last night«, Nicolas began to explain, »About how we met and how we spend our time and your answers last night and … You obviously tried traditional relationships before, I mean, you married twice that speaks for itself, but you keep sleeping with other people and so it never works out for you. I don't want to be another thorn in your side. At some point, one has to see that doing the same things over and over doesn't make something different happen. You actually have to change something. You don't want to hurt anyone and so you try to be faithful, but … maybe you can't?« Nicolas shrugged with his shoulders. »You seem to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders and I don't think it all needs to be there, you know.«

"So … You do wanna break up with me?", Marshall asked. Nicolas was right, he couldn't keep doing the same thing and expect something else to happen. Was a break-up the change?

»My point is, that there's more things we can do, not just cheating or breaking up. Like an open relationship for example. It's quite logical.«

Marshall frowned about this and took a sip from his cocoa. That didn't sound very logical to him. "That's still cheating." He should just stop fucking around with random people. Why was that so hard?

»No, it's not.« Nicolas took another bite of a pancake with strawberry jelly. »By definition it wouldn't be cheating, that's what open means.«

"But that's not a real relationship."

Nicolas cocked his head curious. »Why not?«

"Because it ain't." Wasn't this self-explanatory? A real relationship couldn't work with cheating. "Because a relationship needs trust and loyalty and love and all that. But if cheating is the basis for it, all those things go away." Marshall's hands clutched around the warm cup firmly, searching for support.

»But trust and loyalty and love aren't chained to sex«, Nicolas rebutted his argument calmly, a small smile of comfort on his lips. »I already trust you and like you and that has nothing to do with the sex we have, but it has all to do with the kind of person you are. Wouldn't that be more important?«

"But I don't want to hurt you." How was Nicolas trusting him? That was still a mystery to Marshall. "And when I constantly cheat on you, I'ma hurt you all the time. You can't trust me in the end and you'll stop liking me. Just like Kim."

A soft nod. »If you keep cheating on me for long enough, that's possible. But the point of my suggestion is that you wouldn't be cheating on me. If there's no expectation to be faithful, then there's nothing wrong or broken when you end up sleeping with someone else.«

"Of course I would, I would always be cheating." Marshall turned the warm cup around between his fingers. "You can call it what you want, that don't change what it is. I'd be fucking somebody who ain't you - that's wrong and it hurts you and in the end it breaks this, it's just a matter of time."

Nicolas knitted his eyebrows skeptical. »You telling me, how I have to feel? How often do I have to tell you, you aren't hurting me? It's quite exhausting.«

Marshall bit his lips.

»You know, that's one of the things last night was about. You keep repeating the same things. Things, I don't care about. Things, that hurt you, too. I don't understand, why you cling to them. When I tell you, you don't hurt me, I mean that. You could at least try to accept that.«

A sip from his cocoa, but it wasn't warming him from the inside. "Of course I hurt you. What else would it be?" Marshall was the culprit, he was the one hurting the people around him. If some of these things hurt him back, that was only right.

»How about nothing?«

"What you mean?", and Marshall frowned.

Nicolas sighed deeply. »You hate yourself. You think of yourself as wrong and that you need to be punished. Like, you have this pressure on your shoulders and every time you crack under it, you're hurting. I don't want that for you. It dulls the kind of a person you are. But the only way you see the world is through that pressure and your own pain. You can't imagine someone not being hurt by your actions because of how much they hurt you, because this pressure keeps cutting into you … And I get that, honestly, I do.« Nicolas took another sip from the cocoa. His gaze wandered over Marshall's face, all open. »My father treated me like a dog and that's how I looked at myself. I was only good, when I followed his orders and whenever I couldn't - which was most of the time - I was punished and I felt like I deserved it. After all, I had failed my father, who was my lifeline. Even when he was gone I couldn't escape, but there was no one to give me orders anymore. Everything I did I thought was wrong and I felt like a failure. I should've been punished and beaten into submission, I desperately wished for it, but no one bothered themselves with me. I was nothing. I wasn't worth to be alive. In the end, I plunged myself into death and the thing inside of me that wanted to be a good boy, I beat it into submission myself. I'm a bad person by most people's standards and I can't comply with their expectations, so I killed my guilty conscience.«

Marshall swallowed hard and there were goosebumps all over his body. "I'm sorry about your dad." A hollow phrase, but what else was there to say? The words a stark reminder that he didn't really know much about Nicolas or who he was as a person. To him, Nicolas was always nice, too nice, but to other people he was easily cold and brutal. Marshall had been witness to this before, but he didn't know where it was coming from. Because he didn't really know Nicolas.

»I think, you might feel similar«, Nicolas signed cautiously but with sincerity. »You don't want to hurt anyone, but you can't change who you are. There are all these expectations you try to fulfill, but they only create a life you have no joy in. I don't know, if my idea will change anything, but I want to try and take away some of these expectations. To give you a life more enjoyable for you. There has to be a way for you to live how it's right for you, whatever that means exactly. Like, you said last night, that being openly gay now is an achievement you're proud of. Isn't that a step in this direction? You liberated yourself from the expectation, that a men needs to like women. It's your decision who you feel love and lust with, yours only. And you seem happier now with this expectation cut off. Maybe giving you the liberty to sleep with other people how you want to, can do the same thing?«

Marshall's fingers clawed into the warm porcelain of the cup, but there was no budge. What could he answer to all of this? Now that these words were out there, they seemed to make a lot of sense. Too much sense for his liking. He was proud of the fact, that he didn't give a fuck about other people's opinions. But at the same time, he still did. "How would cheating on you be a liberation?" Maybe Nicolas was right and he couldn't imagine that his boyfriend didn't feel hurt, because to Marshall cheating always hurt. It was a horrible feeling, when the person you loved was with somebody else. Could Nicolas really feel that differently?

»By taking away the expectation of fidelity.« Another small comforting smile on Nicolas's face. »Relationships can be based on a lot of things, right? Sex doesn't need to be a pillar, if we don't chose it as such.«

"You don't want to have sex with me anymore?", Marshall asked confused and upset. That was worse than cheating.

Nicolas shook his head amused. »Hell no, sex with you is great, I won't give that up for nothing.«

A sigh of relief left Marshall. "But how wouldn't it be a pillar, then?"

»Because it's not«, Nicolas answered simply. He took another bite of a jelly covered pancake. »I don't tell you, who you can go to the movies with or who you can play your video games with or who you can work in the studio with. Why would I have the right to tell you, who you can have sex with? Answer: I don't.«

"That ain't the same thing." Sex was a lot more than that, with a lot more meaning to it. Not always, of course, wasn't as if Marshall had been in love with everyone he had fucked, that would be a rather sad collection otherwise. He hadn't really been in love most of his life. Although he loved Kim, it wasn't in a romantic way but how she was part of his family. His other girlfriends he had loved even less than her. And boyfriends? Well, that was a short and sad story, wasn't it. Despite this, Marshall liked the feeling of being in love quite a lot.

»Sure it is. Sex's just an activity, no need to make a fuss about.«

Marshall shook his head. "No, it's not. Sex's intimate and romantic and all that crap. It means something."

Nicolas chuckled quietly, actually amused. »Tell that to a prostitute.«

"Yeah okay, sure, but I ain't a hooker." He only got confused as one.

»I'm just saying, not everyone needs to use sex as a meter for how the relationship is doing. I know from movies and books, that people tend to do that. They get frustrated, when there isn't as much sex in their relationship anymore; or they get jealous, when the partner has sex with someone else; or something stupid like that. I often don't understand, why it's such a big deal to them. Is their relationship just a convenient tool to get sex? There has to be an easier way. I don't think, we have to do the same thing.«

Marshall's eyes grew big, as the words slowly sank in. Did he mean … Was Nicolas saying … "You want a serious relationship with me? A real and serious and committed relationship?", he asked in a hushed tone. Not just for sex? Nicolas had to be kidding!

Nicolas tilted his head in confusion. »Don't you?«

"Yeah, no, but, I mean … I always break them." He rubbed his palms over his face. "That's no goo- oh God …!" Fuck, he was an idiot, a colossal asshat! This whole fucking conversation was about this, wasn't it? How they could have a true relationship, despite Marshall always fucking things up. "I'm so stupid."

»Can't argue with you there.« Nicolas looked at him still with confusion but also highly amused. »But to be absolutely clear: Yes, I want a fully fledged relationship with you.«

Marshall felt his cheeks heat up, but there was also warmth in his chest.

»Whatever that means exactly.« Nicolas shrugged briefly. »I wouldn't come back to you, if I wasn't serious about this. Hence my suggestion.«

Taking a big gulp of his cocoa, Marshall wished for a second it was alcohol. It was a lot easier to be bold and audacious when you were drunk. A feeling he could use right now. "That makes even less sense. A serious but open relationship? That ain't a thing."

»Y'know, to me sex isn't all that important. It's a fun thing humans do, but so is a bar brawl. I wouldn't want to base a relationship on that either.« Nicolas put blob of spray cream on a pancake and slid it over to Marshall. »Can't we decide for ourselves, what to base our relationship on and how important or unimportant sex is for us? We don't have to do it like everyone else does.«

Marshall picked the piece of pancake up and ate it. "But it's that way for a reason, it's how things work the best. I mean, it can't be wrong if everyone else did it that way for hundreds of years." This was a shitty argument. If his daughters came him this way, he'd give them a good talking-to about personal responsibility and individual growth.

»Look how that worked out for you. Best wouldn't be my choice of words.«

"Yeah, I know", he sighed. Firstly, just because everybody did a thing, didn't automatically make it a good thing. Secondly, just because people did something for forever, didn't automatically make it right. History was full with stories to illustrate this. Why was he repeating this nonsense?

Nicolas leaned forward a little and signed firmly: »You want to have sex with other people, that's very clear, and I don't care enough about sex to make a fuss about it. Why, then, make fidelity an expectation between us? The logical answer is, we shouldn't.«

"But relationships aren’t about logic", Marshall objected stubbornly. There was something in him, that wanted to resist so hard against this. He couldn't imagine this working out.

Nicolas weighed his head in agreement. »True and maybe, in the end, it won't work out. I don't know. But isn't it worth a try? It can't be any worse than now, with you beating yourself up over something you don't want to change and I don't particularly mind. You know what I mean?«

Marshall hummed pensive. There was a twisted kind of logic in Nicolas's words that was hard to argue with. Didn't mean, he was thrilled about it.

»What I do mind«, Nicolas continued, »Is you feeling bad unnecessarily. Or that you promise me something and then break it all the time. To me, that sounds a lot worse than you living your life.«

"But there has to be something." This wasn't right, even if Nicolas made it sound like the best logical solution. This wasn't a puzzle to solve, but their feelings interacting.

»What you mean?«

If he knew. Marshall took another sip from his cocoa. "I don't know, just something. I can't just go around and fuck everyone willy-nilly and still call you my boyfriend. Life don't work like that. It can't."

»Why not? If that's what you want and I give you my blessing, why wouldn't that work?« Nicolas looked at him curious.

"I don't know." Frustrated, mostly with himself, Marshall ran a hand through his short hair. "Why would you give me your blessing? I'm just hurting you, that ain't nothing to be okay with."

Nicolas let out a puff of air. »You aren't hurting me. Can't you just believe me?«

"How can it not hurt you?" How could he still trust Marshall? How would he feel in a few weeks or months, when the list of Marshall's fuck buddies grew longer and longer?

For a moment, Nicolas pinched the root of his nose, collecting his thoughts. »Does it hurt you, that I live with someone else?«

Marshall frowned confused. What had that to do with anything? "No, why would it? You have roommates, who cares."

»Exactly.«

"But that ain't the same thing."

Nicolas shrugged. »A lot of couples live together, right? That's the golden standard of a good relationship, to live in the same house and share the same space and share the same life, yes? But we don't. You could be just as hurt and jealous about the fact, that I live with someone else. That someone else shares their space and their life with me, that someone else cooks for me and shares their clothes with me and all that. But you aren't, 'cause it's not really important for a relationship to work. It might be nice, but not essential. It doesn't say anything about the quality of our relationship or our feelings for each other, that we don't live together. Sharing the same space isn't meaningful by itself, but it becomes meaningful by the people doing it. To me, sex is the same. It doesn't mean anything by itself, only by the people involved.«

"So, you really don't care?", Marshall asked and still hated this thought.

»I care about you«, Nicolas insisted. »That's why I'm here. But I don't care about who you keep for company. How you have fun with your friends, isn't my business. Why should I have a say in that?«

"Because you're my boyfriend."

»So? Don't you have your own opinions and dreams and all that?« Nicolas emptied his cup of cocoa.

Marshall clicked his tongue. As if that had anything to do with this. "But don't you want me for yourself? You said, I'm yours." Instinctively, he touched the silver collar hugging his neck. "How can that be true, if you let me fuck other people just like that?"

»I don't let you do anything. I'm not your owner.«

Marshall glared at his boyfriend. They both knew, that wasn't his true answer.

Nicolas let his shoulders hang for a moment. »If I could, I'd chain you to my bed and never let you be anywhere else, but what good would that do?«, he asked back. The usually grim lines of his face softened. »Besides, I don't really want that at all. Like …« Nicolas chewed on the inside of his cheek, his fingers twitched unsure. »You know, you're good for me? I told you this before, but you're full of life and it's so contagious. I don't know anyone who's … who enjoys life like this, so freely and generously. But you do. You hide it away and beat yourself up over it, but you do. And it's beautiful. I want - I think, being your boyfriend means to enable this joy most of all.«

Another blush on Marshall's face. The words nice and lovely, hard to believe but even harder to doubt. "But, how's that enabling joy? Letting me cheat on you however I want, like … What's with your joy? Doesn't it count, too?"

»You already give me that.«

Marshall looked at him puzzled.

»You already give me joy, just by being who you are and sharing that with me«, Nicolas explained a little more.

"Really?" That was enough? Marshall picked up another piece of pancake.

»I never build a snowman before.« Nicolas threw a quick look over his shoulders, the direction of the backyard. Their snowmen holding their woody hands. »That wasn't really a thing when I grew up. Sure, other kids were doing that in the streets, but I didn't know what to do with them … I mean, for example, I didn't know how to enjoy a snowball fight when I was a kid. I always took them for serious battles and would fight hard until someone got injured. So, that was a nonstarter."

"Really?", Marshall asked baffled. "You never build a snowman before? What's with your besti? Didn't you spend your childhoods together or something?" Even as shitty as his childhood had been, he'd have a few kids to hang out with and build a stupid snowman or do a snowball fight in the winter. It's Detroit, you needed to find something fun in winter or you be pretty much fucked half the year.

Nicolas shook his head. »He ain't that kind of person. He only pretended to be silly and childish to scheme adults. He's really shifty and knows how to use his sweet face to charm people and make them do his bidding. Don't get me wrong, that's an invaluable skill and often saved our asses, but … With you, I can see why people like living. In books, I often read some grand speech about how precious life is, but to me it's only a chore. When I'm not fighting, life's dull - until I met you.« A helpless shrug and a crooked smile.

"That's-", Marshall started, but there wasn't more sentence. "I don't know what to say", he admitted. Did Nicolas just say, that Marshall made his life precious? That was fucking huge! And weird. How did he spark that line of thinking in someone?

»I want to protect that.« Nicolas rubbed his neck bashful. »I want to beat the shit out of the people, who made you doubt yourself like this. If I could, I'd kill everyone who told you, you're worthless or a waste of life or a useless, ugly nobody or whatever else awful thing is stuck in your head. Those people are trash and don't deserve to know you. But I can't go back and punch them in the throat for this. So, what can I do? And I thought about this for a while now and … I want you to know, like really believe deep down inside you, that you're an amazing person exactly the way you are. Getting rid of those harmful expectations, that weigh you down so much, is part of that.«

Marshall definitely believed, Nicolas would throat punch people over a few words. No doubt in his mind. "So, you let me cheat on you, 'cause you want to … lift me up? Is that it? Two wrongs don't make a right."

»It doesn't need to be wrong.«

"But it is."

»Why?«

"Because!"

Nicolas looked at him disgruntled and the shadows underneath his eyes seemed tired.

Marshall sighed and his body deflated, shoulders hanging. "How would this work?"

»I don't know«, Nicolas admitted, »How we want it to work, I guess.«

"There must be rules or something. Like, do you want me to tell you about it?", Marshall thought out loud, "You should probably approve of whoever I fuck, right? I mean, you're my boyfriend and got dibs on my ass, so a veto is the least I can give you."

Nicolas shook his head. »That doesn't feel right. I don't want to tell you, who you can or cannot be with. It's your life, so it's your decision. All I want is for you to be careful and safe.«

"But …" This didn't feel right to Marshall. "If I just do whatever and keep doing things like always, I mean, how would that make us different? How're we in a relationship, when I act like I'm single? Sure, we spend time outside of sex, too, but I mean, when something happens with Ryan again and he and I are friends and all that … What's the difference to the two of us? You're my boyfriend, that should mean something. Ain't that special somehow?" If it wasn't sex that made them into a couple, why would they even be a couple?

»Maybe we aren't special«, Nicolas suggested. »Maybe, we're just two guys, who like each other and spend time with each other and who sometimes have sex with each other. What's wrong with that?«

Hurt welled up inside Marshall. That didn't sound good at all. "I thought, you want us to have a serious relationship. This sounds more like you're breaking up with me after all." If Nicolas didn't want them to be special, then he didn't really want them to be in a serious relationship. If they were just hanging out and fucking sometimes, they didn't need to be a couple for that. Didn't Nicolas say, he wanted more than that? Marshall liked the idea of more. But how were they more?

"Kitten", Nicolas said and his dark voice was soothing in Marshall's ears. He held a hand out for him. "I'm not breaking up with you, okay? I'm not."

"You just said, we ain't special", Marshall refuted and refused to take the hand. He felt like his body was shrinking.

"Do we need to be?" His boyfriend's hand still extended over the table. "I just want to spend time with you."

Marshall stood up sharply. Of course they needed to be! How could Nicolas call that into question? "You're breaking up with me. You don't fucking care about me and you don't really want a fucking relationship with me." He knew this was a shitty idea. All of this was! This wasn't a second chance, but just a bad attempt at salvaging some more kinky sex. "You should've stayed away."

Slowly, Nicolas's hand withdrew. »I care about you, Kitten. I want this to work for the both of us, but - I mean, come on, you know this better than anyone: A normal relationship doesn't work for you.« He ran a hand through his spiky black hair, the gesture a display of defeat. »What do you want me to do? I wasn't in a relationship since I was seventeen, and that one wasn't normal, either. What's so great about doing it like everyone else, if it makes you miserable? My life ain't normal and neither is yours. Why should our relationship be normal?«

"Because, that's how these things need to work!" What was so hard to understand about that?

Nicolas looked at him exhausted, but also annoyed. »Says who? The God, who hates fags? Or the government, that hates us, too? No, they only care about how much money you can give them. Aren't the rules like, you should only ever date one person and marry them as soon as possible, so you can have sex and only have sex missionary style and only to make children? Are those the rules you wanna follow? That's fucking stupid. Who came up with shit like this? Why is somebody else making rules about how our relationship should work? Why can't it be us? Shouldn't we make the rules for ourselves, how we fucking need them - or don't need them. Why's it anybody else's business who you care for or how you express that? Why can't we build our relationship how we need it to be? Tell me, why not.«

"Because I fucking want it that way!", Marshall yelled, his fists shaking. He felt like getting sick. "'Cause that's what a fucking relationship is: two people, who love each other and share their lives with each other and are loyal to each other. And I want that, goddammit! That ain’t fucking hard to understand, asshole!"

Nicolas threw his hands in the air exasperated. »But sex is not love! You know that better than anyone, don't you. We could love each other and share our lives with each other and be loyal to each other just as well, we don't have to tie it down to sex. There're million other things we could make meaningful to us.«

"And what would that fucking be?", Marshall's voice was acid. "What's more intimate and romantic and amazing than sex?"

»Honesty«, Nicolas counted down at his fingers, »Sincerity. Your cooking. Your dresses. Your tears. You've always been true with me. You don't only show me your stoic face or your smile or your sexy side, but you also let me in on your dark moments. To me, that feels like a real relationship - not the sex we have.«

Marshall knitted his eyebrows. "But I do that with my friends, too, like, being honest with them and shit. And I've been on TV in dresses. Hell, I turned some of my darkest moments into hit songs and perform them on stage."

Nicolas nodded simply.

"That ain’t special. You're my boyfriend, there has to be something special for fuck's sake."

»I don't care about that. And, honestly, I don't think I'm special to you.« Nicolas nodded toward Marshall's empty chair. »Like you said, there's probably not much of a difference between the two of us and what you and Ryan have. Not from your perspective at least, I think. You like and trust us both and you want to be close with us both, right? I mean, maybe you do feel different about us, I don't know. But I don't think it really matters either way.«

Marshall stared at him disbelieving. "How can it not matter? It has to matter!" He pulled off another piece of pancake, his hands needed something to do. Then he sat down again. "You two ain't the same, absolutely not. He's just a friend, I mean, a close one sure, but just a friend. He has a wife, you know."

»He loves you«, Nicolas stated unfazed. »It's all over his face and in his movements.«

A blush rushed over Marshall's face and he shook his head quickly. "No, he don't. He loves his wife, they been together since high school."

»Well, that's his mess«, Nicolas nonchalantly waved the argument aside. »And for the record: I think he's an asshole. He's pretty shitty at loving you.«

"See!", Marshall pointed out, somehow excited and relieved. "You _are_ jealous. You ain't okay with him and that we fucked. Then, how can it be okay when I do it again? I don't want you to hate me, too." There were already too many people in his life, who hated him but he loved them anyway.

Nicolas took Marshall's hands into his own, softly he stroked them with his thumbs. "I like you, Kitten, and I want to be with you. You being yourself won't make me hate you."

The husky voice filled Marshall's cells. "But you don't like him. And when I fuck him, that's … I don't know, how you couldn't be hurt or jealous. Like, that I did it with him and not you, you was angry about that before."

»I was angry 'cause of what he did to you.« In Nicolas's eyes was genuine concern. »You were in pain and not the good kind. I keep telling you, be careful.«

Marshall bit down on his bottom lip.

»But I know, you let him do that«, Nicolas signed on. »You can be erratic and licentious and you love him back, that probably lends itself to compliance.«

Another blush. "I ain't in love with him."

Nicolas shrugged.

"Really, I don't", Marshall muttered. Ryan had a wife and she was lovely, he wouldn't ever stand in their way.

»Okay. Maybe I misread that.«

"I don't", Marshall repeated again, his voice stronger. "Why would you think that? We're just friends, nothing more. We always just been friends. How can you suggest all this with the open relationship and shit and think something like this, that I'm in love with someone else? How can you be okay with that? You're nuts! You want to be my boyfriend for real and serious and everything, but you also tell me, it's okay when I fuck another guy you think I'm in love with? That's bonkers. That's batshit crazy!" He pushed the chair away from the table, there needed to be more space between them.

Nicolas still leaned forward on the table, as if to hold his hands again. »Maybe. Certainly. But it's one of those things I like you for. I keep telling you, you're full with life and all these emotions, it's like your overflowing with them and it's captivating. I don't really do emotions, so watching you live them and being in your splash zone is … it's pretty exhilarating and pure attraction.« A short shake of his head and Nicolas leaned back in his chair again. »However, it also probably means, that you have so much to give it's enough for multiple people; maybe it would even be too much for just one person. Who knows.«

This was too much. Marshall rubbed his hands over his face, but this conversation didn't go away. "I don't get that." He felt drained and exhausted. How were they not breaking up? How could Nicolas keep insisting on them being a real couple? Every word brought them one step forward and three steps backward.

»That's okay«, Nicolas assured but the feeling didn't settle in. »I don't expect you to. Just know, I'm suggesting an open relationship to stay together with you, not to hurt you or break up with you. I say this, 'cause I think it'll make this - us - work.«

Weakly, Marshall shook his head. "I know, but … but I don't really see how."

»What's the alternative?«, Nicolas asked the real question of their conversation. »If we keep doing the same thing with the same rules and expectations as you've always done, as everyone does - it won't work. It can't. There'll be too much guilt and pain and resentment building up, for all the promises broken and the lies told and the fights we'll get in, about whether or not you hurt me. To me, it seems obvious to not let that happen. Don't make me promises you can't keep and don't lie to me about shit, that's meaningless to me.«

"You don't want me to be faithful to you?" That sounded so wrong. That couldn't be a serious suggestion, Marshall just couldn't believe this. "How's that honest or sincere or loyal?"

»You'll be that with everything else.« Nicolas made it sound so easy.

But it wasn't, not to Marshall. "What else? You have to have some rules in mind here. You can't just let me run around and fuck without a care and not have rules for that. There fucking has to be something!"

Nicolas shrugged again. »Not sure. Like I said, I don't want to tell you who you can be with or not. That's not my place. And it probably be too much work anyway, you sound like you come around quite a bit. I have better things to do than to monitor your urges.« He weighed his head thinking for a moment. »But if it feels reassuring to you to have me sign off on it, I kinda understand that. That would make me part of it, right, so it'd be something we do together and not just you by yourself. Feels more couply like that. And I do want to make sure, you're taken care of and safe. You have a tendency to overdo shit and let people mistreat you. But I also trust, that you ultimately know what you're doing and where your limits are, I don't really know you well enough to butt in there.« Nicolas let out a strained puff of air. »It's a bit of mess, isn't it.«

"A bit?", Marshall asked skeptical. "It's a pretty big mess. How do you want to do all that?"

»I don't know. I thought, it's best to set the limits together.«

Marshall tilted his head, unimpressed with Nicolas's admission. "You haven't thought this through much, have you now? How can this work, when you don't even know what you want?"

Nicolas smirked at him. »I did, I had a whole list of rules and things you could and couldn't do. But if I tell you what I want and don't want you to do, I'm just putting expectations and pressure on you again. And my goal is, to take that away from you. I want you to just be you, replacing other people's rules and expectations with my own kinda defeats the purpose. So I scrapped it.«

"So, what do you suggest then?" This wasn't going anywhere. They had to come to some kind of conclusion here. If they wanted to be a serious couple, Marshall was probably cool with that, but if they wanted things to be open, there had to be something.

For a long moment, Nicolas just looked at him and Marshall shifted in his seat nervous. »How about no rules?«

"What?", Marshall asked confused. "Don't be stupid."

»Hear me out«, Nicolas said once again today.

Marshall huffed upset. "Already did that and hated it. Come on, there's something I could hurt you with. I mean, you have feelings after all, so I can hurt you. And I mean, are you gonna fuck around, too?" That was a horrible thought.

»Let's start with no rules«, Nicolas explained unperturbed by Marshall's objection. »You do whatever you want to do and if you want to let me in on it or not, that's up to you. Whatever feels good to you, that's the foundation. And I do the same. Then, when one of us comes into a situation that hurts or creates jealousy or whatever else, we report that and find a comprise together. You know what I mean? So that we make the rules we really need, 'cause they actually address things that bother us.«

"Sounds painful." Not something Marshall was keen on. "So we have to wait until something bad happens to know where the line is? What if that thing is so bad and hurts too much to get over it? I mean, just 'cause we say there no rules, don't mean it actually feels like that."

»That's a risk I'm willing to take.«

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Of course you are, Mister I-Don't-Care."

The sarcastic snipe did not impress Nicolas.

"Okay, so no rules? None whatsoever? We can do whatever we want with whoever we want, wherever, whenever and that's fine?", he asked disbelieving. "Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen." Marshall didn't really see this working out well.

Nicolas nodded agreeing, »And if it turns out, it's not fine, then we make a rule about it that we both can live with. That's my suggestion.«

"You have shitty suggestions, you know that?" His boyfriend was a seriously weird person, Marshall had to admit. An open relationship? This was fucked up.

»I heard that before, yes.« Nicolas grinned with this mean dark promise.

A shiver ran down Marshall's spine. "I still hate this."

»Just think about it for a few days.«


	52. I Need A Doctor To Bring Me Back To Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Christmas and New Year's Marshall is on the phone three different times: with Elton, with Ryan and with Andre. They all have very different views on his current situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ShadyJade and innerartisanfan for the suggestion to include more of Marshall's friends.

"Hallo?", a croak in the line.

"Elton?", Marshall asked, although this was a stupid question. Who else would pick up this number? He twirled a pen between his fingers. "How are ya? You good?" Starting this conversation easy was probably best.

"Very good", and he could hear a smile in Elton's voice. "What about you? It's been a while, hasn't it. I hope that means you've been doing all right?" Elton's voice was warm and filled with understanding, always a comforting sound and it held a fond place in Marshall's heart.

An instinctive nod, useless on the phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. Uhm … It's not too late over there, is it?" He hated time difference, fiercely.

A quiet laugh, a little bit of tiredness. "We're actually in Cali right now." Oh, so time difference the other way, terrific.

"Really, why?" Should he know? Marshall wasn't sure. He wasn't always as attentive a friend as he wanted to be.

"Our boy was just born", Elton explained and the pride and joy he must feel was clearly audible. "On Christmas Day no less."

Like Hailie. She was one year older now, fifteen. It felt like yesterday, when he'd held that little bundle of human in his arms, but now she was growing into a smart, beautiful young woman. A little frightening to think what awaited her. Being a child was easy, but becoming an adult was hard. Marshall would like to protect her from it, but he knew this was pointless. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you. We can't wait to take him back home. It's only been two days and I can't believe he's finally here. David can't stop looking at him."

Marshall smiled warmly. "Yeah, I still have that sometimes when I look at the girls." He scratched a few lines on a piece of paper, just to occupy his hand a little.

"How was your Christmas, Dear?", Elton asked.

"The girls are happy, so everything's great here." Except for Marshall's mood, which was gloomy and somber. Hearing his daughters laughter and seeing their happy faces when opening their gifts hadn't cheered him up. Their family sitting around the Christmas tree, engulfed in the warm glittery lights of the season, but Marshall was brooding on the couch.

Elton clicked his tongue chiding. "I can hear your depressed arse over the phone. What's going on?"

"Nah, I'm fine." Even Kim's nagging couldn't move his mood. The days of Christmas had gone by fast and slow at the same time, the hours ticking by relentless and nothing could stop them as Marshall's thoughts were drawing circles.

"Don't lie to me, there's no need for that."

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Elton was right, of course he was. That's why Marshall was calling, but it was hard to get the words out. He didn't know how to talk about this stupid idea - open relationship, what a fucking stupid shitty thing! - and not talk about Nicolas at the same time. But how could he talk about Nicolas? Most people he called friends didn't know yet and Marshall had no clue how to let them in on it, on him being gay. But he figured, Elton be okay with it if no one else.

"So?", Elton pressed on. "What's going on with you these days?"

A sigh, that got lost in the space of his home office. His thoughts weren't getting him nowhere, that's why he was calling. He needed to break the spirals in his head. "You got a minute? That be cool. I don't wanna distract you from your baby, though. They're absolutely the cutest, when they're all tiny and new."

"I always got a minute for you, Dear", an audible smile. "I'm sure, I have two minutes even. So, spill."

Marshall smirked briefly. "Well, it's a relationship thing and it's a bit - actually, it's a lot weird. I dunno, I'm running in circles." After a while it had become easy to talk to Elton about stuff that didn't matter just as much as about the stuff that mattered the most. A friend to truly trust in.

"You're seeing someone?", Elton asked surprised. "How wonderful! I'm glad to hear that, you deserve it so much. I'm sure, we can figure this weird thing out for you. What's the problem?"

The moment of truth, this was it. Marshall inhaled deeply before he spoke: "I'm seeing this guy, y'know, and it's been like three months almost, and that's already a lot to deal with, like I mean, a gay relationship - me of all people, right? But now he wants an open relationship and I don't know where my head's at anymore. Open, that's not a real relationship, that doesn't feel right, you know what I'm sayin'? I feel like I can't breath and I just wanna hit the pause button for a minute, but I can't."

"That sounds quite stressful", Elton hummed in acknowledgment. "You got a lot on your plate there, of course that's overwhelming. But sometimes, relationships are like this, overwhelming and their importance grows so much so fast, it's hard to keep up at times. Is that, what's happening?"

"Kinda." Marshall rotated the sheet of paper and drew some more lines and curves. "We already broken up once and came back together, and that's my fault, I know, but … I didn't think I be in something like this again, something so consuming and wild. The thought of losing him already hurts so much and it scares the shit out of me. I don't know what it is and I always think we don't actually do shit, just text all the time and we don't really have much of a thing at all, but … But my heart jumps every time I hear his ringtone and I feel like a dumb teenager when we meet and it's so fucking silly, all of this is. But when I think of us not being together, it just fucking hurts and I don't know if I want this again. Or if I can." The relationship with Kim had almost killed him and he had no desire to repeat that. But wasn't it different with Nicolas? Marshall couldn't tell. Could a relationship that made him lose control so easily be good?

"Dear, there's nothing wrong with falling in love", Elton assured him. "Sometimes we meet a person that strikes us in just the right way and that is marvelous and frightening at the same time. To fall head over heels for someone is quite daunting, but with the right person the leap is worth it."

Marshall sighed. "But how do I know, who's the right person? All I ever meet is the wrong person." At least for this part of his life. Sure, partly because he hadn't been looking in the right corner and partly because he hadn't been looking in earnest. Whenever the longing for a partner had been strong, he'd been coming back to Kim for another try. That she wasn't the right person he'd known early on, but convinced himself of the opposite somewhere along the way.

"I'm afraid, that's a question only hindsight can answer."

"'Course, can't make it easy, otherwise where would be the pain in that, right", he muttered sarcastic.

"Marshall", a soft tone through the line, "That's not all it is."

He sighed. "I know, I know." It felt that way, even with Nicolas. Was that the sign, he wasn't the right person? Or was it, that good relationships hurt just as much? That didn't seem fair and it didn't make it worth it.

"I can imagine, him being a man doesn't make things easier for you?", Elton asked. "The circles you frequent aren't always welcoming with this sort of thing."

Marshall snorted unamused. "That's an understatement."

"You want to talk about it?", Elton offered. "It’s a stress, that tinges a relationship often enough. If you can't really be yourself, it's hard to be in a relationship even if it's with the right person. Doubt creeps into everything."

For a moment, Marshall closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The truth of those words echoed inside him. Doubt crept into everything, so did fear. "It was tough at first, not gonna lie, probably still is. There's so many people, that don't know and I don't know how to tell 'em." It wasn't enough to be out to Ryan and Rufus and their little band of brothers, but Andre and Paul and Nate, Curtis, Denny, Tracy and Big Eight and so many more people would need to know about this eventually. Should he make it public? Hadn't his fans a right to know? But hadn't he a right to a private life? For all the times he had been called homophobic, would he need to prove this sudden change? Would he need to explain, that it wasn't sudden at all and all the pain that led him here? Could he put a song about this on an album? Did he want to? "And I don't know how they gonna react. I don't expect nothing good, but I was proven wrong before. Thank God the girls are okay with it, I don't know what I'd do, if they hated me. I just … I wanted this to go away for so long, but it hasn't. It won't. Probably had a panic attack because of it a couple times." Not his most glamorous, to be quite frank. Oddly enough, he had always believed everyone should do their own thing. His lyrics could sound homophobic, admittedly, but he hadn't believed these words, only said them to provoke and spite others. However, for himself he hadn't allowed the same courtesy and now standing in front of the shards that was his love life, he was only confused about why. Why hadn't he stood up for his own truth? He had stood up for his passion and his career and that had been just as hard a fight. "But it feels kinda okay now? It feels like I'm more myself, in a strange way. And that is mostly a good thing … sometimes I don't think so. It's a bit like coming out of rehab, you know, finding a way for this new normal to feel good and be livable and it doesn't always feel like normal. But when it does, it's actually a comfortable place. A place I wanted to be in for so long, but I got lost on the way somehow. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it very much does", Elton affirmed. "I'm happy for you, Marshall, it's a great feat you accomplished. You're working so hard to make a better life for yourself, I'm so proud of you."

Sheepish, Marshall rubbed his neck. Sadly, the silver collar wasn't there anymore, but safely hidden away in a drawer of his nightstand. "I couldn't do it without you."

"I'm just cheering you on, the work is all you. Be proud of who you are."

"Hmm", he muttered.

"And I think", Elton went on, "That alone is worth a little bit of uncertainty about your relationship. As long as you two like each other and it feels good to you, some overwhelm isn't too bad. Love needs a little bit of excitement."

Marshall would still like a pause to bring his mind in order, but then again, his mind didn't work like that. "Maybe." He looked at the sheet of paper now covered in black lines from his pen. The sight caught him by surprise: Nicolas. The lines came together to form his boyfriend's face with the eerie gaze of black eyes that had no reflection, and the lines of a mouth comfortable with an evil grin more than words. "I'm such an idiot", he sighed deeply.

"How come?", Elton asked with audible curiosity.

"Everything." Why couldn't he be a better person for Nicolas? As much as he liked him, why wasn't it enough? "I'm the worst boyfriend, just absolutely trash at it and too hesitant on top of it all. All I do is fuck things up. I should just say yes to this damn open thing and be done with it. He tries so hard to accommodate me and my shit, and what do I do? I cheat on him every chance I get and I get angry at him for no fucking reason and I doubt him whenever he's nice to me and I don't even take him serious when he's explaining himself. God damn, I'm a huge asshole to him." Marshall rubbed a hand over his head, frustrated with his own behavior. "I don't know what he sees in me. Like, he tells me all the fucking time, right, but I don't believe him, I just can't. What dick move is that? He's so straightforward about all these things, embarrassingly straightforward and he's running out of words, repeating the same things over and over. Like, how can I take him serious, when he calls me adorable? That's bullshit. But he just fucking sits there and takes how I dismiss everything he says. I'd be furious if he did this to me! But he sits there and takes it and takes me back regardless all this shit. Not that I think he's lying, but I don't believe him and then I fight with him over literally nothing. And he's way too indulgent with me. When I wanna do something with the girls? He gets out of the way no questions asked. He deals with my friends without a complaint, even though that they don't get along much. He always makes me this red juice mix for no other reason than that I like it. And he talks to me a lot, like he hates talking and I'm sure it's difficult for him, but he does it anyway because I like his voice so much. But he doesn't take anything back. He even let me win the snowball fight! I fucking know he's stronger and faster than me, I fucking know that and he's just as competitive as I am, but he let me win anyway."

Elton hummed low. "He sounds like quite the catch."

"And then we fight again because I hate his idea", Marshall went on, "But I know it makes sense and I know he's only suggesting it for my benefit and he's trying to give me all the control here. That he'll be fine with whatever as long as I'm happy and I fucking hate it. I ain't fucking happy! I never been happy, I'm not that kind of person, for fuck's sake. So we fight, or more like I fight him and he lets me and I can see he's angry and frustrated and annoyed with me, but he doesn't fucking do anything. He even fucking apologized to me! Can you believe that? I walk all over him and he's the one who apologizes. I don't get it, not at all. Why did he even come back? Ain't like we're Romeo and Juliet or some bullshit like that. That doesn't make any sense. I mean, I'm glad he did and the two days Christmas with him were awesome - minus the fight. And I don't want to be this much of an asshole to him, of course I don't. I like him, I really do and I want him to know that, but I can't put it into action somehow. When I try, shit goes wrong all the damn time and I feel like a fool and it's all just horrible."

A low chuckle through the line. "That's part of love, Dear. We all feel like fools, when we're in love. I'm sure, he appreciates your effort, whether or not it goes wrong."

"Maybe." Probably it amused Nicolas, when Marshall made a fool of himself; which wasn't the worst reaction.

Elton hummed briefly, between agreement and thinking. "This open relationship idea, is that the weird thing you wanted to talk about?"

Marshall exhaled a shaky breath, a sad tone. "It's a mess."

"That's life."

"Terrific."

"Come, tell me about it. He sounds quite smitten with you, why does he want an open relationship then? Doesn't that usually mean, there's somebody else involved or something like that?"

Marshall wanted to crawl into a corner and die. "It's because of me. I, uhm … I cheated on him, like a couple times and it's kinda why we broke up. But I hate the idea, I absolutely hate it. I don't want a relationship based on cheating, you know what I mean? I also don't want to think, that he doesn't care who else I fuck. He's my boyfriend, he should care, right. Besides, I don't want to push him into this whole mess in the first place. That I can't keep it in my pants is my fucking problem, not his. I'm in the wrong here and I should just stop with this shit, instead of making my boyfriend sign off on it."

"Well, will you stop with this shit?", Elton asked, aiming right at the heart of the problem.

"No", and this small syllable hurt like hell.

"Then, maybe this is the best course of action for the two of you? If he can live with it, then maybe no harm, no foul."

Marshall looked down on the table, looked at the drawing of his boyfriend and his chest constricted painfully. "Could you?" Because he knew, he couldn't. How was he supposed to say yes to an idea, that was like a guillotine to their relationship? A knife hanging above their heads, ready to fall at any second.

A moment of silence on the other end of the line. "No, I could not", Elton finally said in a measured tone. "But I'm also not in love with someone who frequently engages in extramarital affairs."

"Stuff that diplomatic bullshit", Marshall snorted indignant.

"What I'm saying is, I'm not in his position nor in yours. I enjoy my marriage with just the two of us. I cheated before and I forgave cheating as well, but I can't say I liked either feeling. However", Elton stretched, "However, people lead different lives and I saw some being quite happy in unconventional constellations. I don't think, this idea necessarily has to be a nail in the coffin for your relationship. The question is, can you live with this?"

He let out a low, pained groan. "I don't think so." He was such a hypocrite. "Just the thought of him fucking someone else makes me mad as hell. Funny, eh? I force him to be okay with it, but I would hold a grudge. How can cheating be at the core of a serious relationship? Let alone a good one." It couldn't work, it just couldn't. Tired of himself, Marshall rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand. "But I see his point, y'know. I see, where he's coming from and he ain’t wrong. As long as I keep doing this and fuck around like this, all relationships of mine will eventually break apart. They have to. The only way to make this work is by taking cheating out of the equation. Either 'cause I stop or 'cause he rolls with it." He didn't give Nicolas much of a choice.

"For some people it works out", Elton reiterated.

"But not like this", Marshall objected. "I can't go fuck around like whatever, but tell him he can't. That ain't fair." Maybe Nicolas didn't feel jealous or hurt when he was cheated on, but Marshall knew whenever it had been the other way around, he had felt hurt and betrayed and livid.

A mumbling in the background, probably Elton's family who waited on him. "Indeed, it wouldn't. But these things don't have a template. Sometimes, life's not fair and it doesn't really matter. It's important to be on the same page when you're in a relationship, and to do things together. Respect for your love can be more important than fairness."

"Being an unfair prick to him doesn't sound very respecting." They couldn't do it like this. Maybe Nicolas would be okay with an unfair arrangement, but they didn't need to add another fuse to this powder keg, that was almost going off already.

"I know, you have a lot of respect for the people in your life", Elton's voice sounded confident. "I think, as long as you two can be honest and respectful with each other, it might be worth a try. It's surely better than cheating on him behind his back and getting into fights all the time. When you're open about it and he accepts it, it might work out all right in the end."

Marshall sighed heavy. "At least one person who thinks so …" Maybe gay people were okay with these sort of things? How would he know, right, he only ever tried to be straight. Which hadn't worked out for him at all, but he had sometimes convinced himself that having sex with a man didn't make him gay. In a way, that was true. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it, really, I needed a different perspective on things. But I should let you get back to your family."

"There's no rush", Elton told him. "Something this important isn't talked out in a minute, that's okay. I got time."

"Nah, it's alright", and Marshall shook his head. He didn't want to be a burden on his friend, who'd done so much for him over the past couple years. Always listening to him, regardless if it was a serious problem or just silly nonsense. "You got a new baby, enjoy that. They're this small only once, there ain't a second to miss."

"I don't miss anything when I'm helping a friend."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Another look at the drawing he had made. "You already helped. Now's your family's turn."

"When you need me, I'm here, Marshall", Elton offered in a warm tone.

And he knew it was true. "Thank you." A small smile on his lips. "Now, go to your family and say hi to them for me, aight?"

A soft laugh. "You do the same, Dear."

* * *

got little to say, but still eloquent / the state of affairs is all scanned, concealed with dark humor / so I won't show my true colors / ask how I'm doing, question pushed back / every convo's always directed where no fire is at / emotional moments get drowned out by laughs / a smile of stone, an armored heart / one step closer, I'm loading the gun / did you hear me? I'm serious / you can't read me, 'cause everything is blacked out / What was pain again? I forgot / I keep getting further away from myself and don't care / nothing's worth it no more, fuck, how empty I am …

The ringing of his phone startled Marshall out of his train of thought. Puzzled, he read the caller ID: Ryan. Curious. A last look over the verse he was in the middle of writing, but the ringing distracted his focus. The word he was tripping over lost for the moment, but he'll find it again and four others more, for sure. So he picked up the phone and pressed the green button. "What up?"

"You ignoring me?", Ryan cut right to the chase.

"What?", Marshall asked confused. He wasn't ignoring anyone. "What a greeting is that? No _hi how are you,_ no _what up, dawg,_ no nothing? Rude."

An annoyed huff in the line. "Don't fuck with me, man. I expected you to call all week, but you didn't. What's up with that?"

"Was I supposed to call you?" Marshall didn't remember a promise like that.

"Well, yeah, how else you gonna apologize?"

Marshall blinked into the emptiness of his kitchen. "Apologize? For what?" He hadn't done anything wrong to Ryan, at least nothing his friend hadn't gladly participated in. If anything, he should apologize to Ryan's wife.

"The club", Ryan explained irritated.

"What about it?" Nothing had happened there, so nothing to apologize for.

"You stood me the fuck up!"

Marshall sat up straight in his chair. "Fuck!" He had totally forgotten about this little detail. Nothing had happened, because he had left early enough - but he had been so absorbed with himself that night, he hadn't canceled anyone. Was Worick angry as well? He'd have to check later.

"Yeah, fuck", Ryan muttered pissed. "You forgot all about me, didn't you."

"I was so out of it that night, I didn't mean to stand you up." Marshall rubbed his neck and missed the collar his boyfriend had gifted him.

"But you did", Ryan insisted.

He really had fucked this up. "That day was fucking shit, I wouldn't've been good company anyway." _I bet he would've loved to make your dream come true, homo._

"You called me up and summoned me", Ryan dug his heels into his point. "If you weren't up to snuff, you should've just not called."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you did."

Marshall sighed quietly. "My head wasn't really working, aight. Shit happens."

"Indeed, shit happens." Ryan still sounded pissed.

"I gonna make it up to you, aight?"

"I know you will", Ryan's voice softened a little. "You comin' to the party?"

Relaxing again, Marshall leaned back in his chair. "Yap, I'ma be there." He wouldn't miss celebrating the New Year with his friends for anything in the world. Sadly, in the past he had missed some of these parties, but not this year.

"How 'bout you make it up to me there?", Ryan suggested and the smug smile was clearly audible.

"We gonna do a private party?" They both knew, how Marshall would be making it up to his friend. _No secrets here, slut._

He could practically hear the shrug in Ryan's voice. "It's my party, I can do whatever I want with it."

"Of course. You got something particular in mind?" It should be his friend's choice, what he wanted for his apology.

"I got a few ideas. Wanna hear?"

"Sure, spill." _Cum all inside you!_

"For starters", Ryan's voice was calm, "You can always blow me. That's nice and easy, right. My dick in your cute little mouth and your crafty tongue all around me. All hot and wet just for me. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

Instinctively, Marshall sucked in his bottom lip between his teeth. That did sound good, indeed. _That's a way to ring in the New Year, you chiming with a dick._

"That's an apology I can accept."

Marshall hummed agreeing.

Ryan continued, his voice grew sultry smooth: "I was really looking forward to that, to you sucking me off. But you didn't show up, imagine how sad my dick was. You have to make him better, Sunny, it's your duty. My dick in your mouth, that's like an out-of-body experience, y'know. And you can go so fucking deep. Do you even need to breath? We need to try that some time, get my dick all the way in and see, how long I can fuck you like that. Wouldn't that be great? You'd like that, wouldn't you."

Marshall hummed in approval. Certainly an idea he could get on board with and there was a tingle of anticipation in the back of his throat. "Why not? Sounds like fun."

"That's what I thought", Ryan agreed satisfied, as if a plan was coming together.

But Marshall exhaled sharply, a short whispered "Fuck." A plan to fuck with Ryan. Why was he doing this again? It was one thing to cheat because an enticing atmosphere tempted your impulses; but it was a very different thing to go out of your way to plan it. Nicolas and he weren't really back together again, but Marshall was already on Ryan's dick again. If his friend was here, he would be so sucking that big, black, beautiful dick of his. No doubt. "How was Christmas?", Marshall changed the subject. Being this bad as a boyfriend, it was getting ridiculous. _Come on, you want this dick in your mouth. Just say 'ahh' and suck it._ He knew that, for fuck's sake. Everyone knew that!

"What?" A confused laugh. "Fine, I guess. The girls loved their teddies."

"Told you." That was the only correct reaction to those soft and cuddly teddybears. But the memory of the Christmas market brought with it the memory of them hiding in a dark corner making out. With that, quite unavoidably, was another memory raised: Them in Ryan's bed, naked and sweaty, entwined with each other and their groans filling out the room. Ryan filling out him. Marshall rubbed over his eyes, but the pictures didn't go away, instead they got company. Memories from a past long gone, when a Californian sun would shine on their bed and they'd been trapped between fucking and fighting. The only two things Marshall knew about relationships. A deep sigh from under this burden.

"Something wrong?", Ryan asked cautiously.

Marshall shook his head, a useless move on the phone. "Nah, I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me." Ryan snorted abrasive.

"Really, I'm fine." He was just fed up with himself. Maybe he was a man of contradictions, wanting to be with someone but also wanting to be single. He needed to take a side.

"C'mon on, I know you."

"I'm fine", Marshall repeated.

Ryan huffed disbelieving. "You're never fine, when you say you're fine."

"I am fine", he insisted. "Things are a bit complicated right now. I don't know if you remember, but I have a boyfriend."

"So?", Ryan asked unimpressed. "You don't care."

"I fucking care." Not enough, but he cared.

"No, you don't. Just admit it and you're fine. You don't have to be in a relationship, being single is better anyways." _He ain't wrong, bitch._

Another sigh. Of course that was how Ryan saw things. Marshall already knew the response to his actual problem: Hell no! For Ryan, an open relationship was only good for a lewd joke, nothing more. A stance, Marshall could get behind. Aside the fact, that Ryan didn't actually want things to work out for him and Nicolas. This wasn't something he could trust his friend's opinion on and Marshall felt bad for this line of thinking. They were friends, really good and close friends, but he couldn't trust Ryan with all of his things, only with some of them. This wasn't the kind of friendship Marshall wanted.

"You okay?", Ryan asked again.

He wanted to repeat, he was fine, but that wouldn't be believed. "It's nothing", Marshall said instead. Although to him, it was a big something. Nicolas's suggestion wasn't anything he could wrap his head around and certainly not on his own. Talking to Elton had calmed him a little, but this whole idea still seemed wrong. He was wrong. If Ryan were here, Marshall be cheating again. He had no control over himself and it was already driving Nicolas mad.

"C'mon, talk to me. What's going on?", Ryan kept asking.

Marshall didn't want to lessen their friendship, especially since they'd finally gotten back to a good point after all those years apart. The chip on his shoulder about Ryan was slowly disappearing. Was that, why they ended up in bed again? After all, they had managed two years of being friends the normal way. But it didn't feel right to tell Ryan about this. A change of subject was in order. "Y'know, I was thinking about all the songs we been making lately. It's much fun, right, maybe we should turn them into a project? Could be cool, don't you think?"

"What?", Ryan asked confused once more. "That ain't … Yeah sure, cool. I'm down."

"Great! Gonna be incredible, we make some fire." It was tons of fun to be in the studio together and trying to out rap each other. Marshall loved it. But a song wasn't truly great, if no one listened to it. Only by being in someone else's ears was a song fulfilling its potential. On top of that, more people needed to realize what a great MC Ryan was. He was still slept on too much and Marshall knew, his fame could act as a spotlight. "Think about it and we talk about it next time we're in the studio, aight."

"Aight, sounds like a plan."

"We're brimming over with good plans today." _Like the plan to suck his dick? Why not combine it? He raps, you suck, album done._ "It'll be cool to do some shows together again."

"You bet", Ryan agreed. "Gonna be like the good old days: you, me and the crowd."

How good those days had been, was debatable. "Yap, you, me and the crowd." And a hotel room somewhere unfamiliar, a place where normal rules didn't apply. That's how Marshall had looked at it in the past. Away from home life was different, it was adventurous and thrilling, something to enjoy to the fullest. Which he had acted out hard. A new memory in the color of a Californian dawn bubbled up and with it a small laugh. Them lying in bed, half naked and half drunk and only half his brain working. Any silly idea been a good idea. "You remember, when I wanted my nipples pierced?" _Faggot!_

Ryan laughed as well. "Why, yeah. I could barely talk you out of it, that I remember. As if your earrings weren't corny enough."

"Says the guy with the rhinestone do-rag." Marshall wasn't the only one who'd made questionable fashion choices in the past. They all had a skeleton or two in the closet.

"Not my fault!", Ryan fended off instantly. "My stylist did that, that's totally different, that's totally outta my control. But you wanting your nips pierced, that's all on you. You only got yourself to blame there."

"What's there to blame? I liked the idea back then." Now he thought it was silly, but now he was almost forty and should think of his twenty-something year old self as silly. That showed, he was growing as a person. At least in some aspects he was growing.

"I know, I was there. Wasn't a good idea, even back then it wasn't."

Marshall couldn't help the pout. "C'mon on, it wasn't that bad. It would've been fun." An unconscious rub over one of his nipples, the fabric of his t-shirt scraped his skin.

Ryan sent a disagreeing puff through the line. "Nope."

A sheepish grin his friend couldn't see. "I had the idea 'cause of you", Marshall explained. His friend couldn't act, as if his hands were clean in this, he was just as much to blame.

"Me?"

"Yeah", Marshall cleared his throat. "I kinda thought you'd be into that."

"Really? Why?", Ryan asked baffled.

Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. "Dunno, you seemed to like 'em? What do I know? It's been like ten years or whatever, don't ask."

"You're mixing me up with you." The phone line filled with Ryan's amusement.

"What you mean?"

Ryan hesitated for a moment, before he answered: "It's why I talked you out of it, y'know."

"What?" Marshall only remembered, how Ryan had thought of it as too gay and too bromidic. Ryan's word, not his.

"You would've played with 'em all day and playing with your nips riles you up real good. You're horny enough as it is, you don't need a turbo button for that."

"Hey!" What a weird accusation was that?

"C'mon, you know it's true."

Maybe, but Marshall wouldn't confess to this out loud. "No, it ain't. I'm not too horny, asshole. If you can't keep up with me, that's on you. Maybe you ain't horny enough. Ever thought about that?"

Ryan snorted with laughter. "Sure, that must be it."

"Obviously."

"That you don't have much self-control when it comes to sex, has nothing to do with it. Of course not." Ryan's sarcasm was touchable.

"I have enough self-control." _Liar! Your pussy ain't in control of nothing._ He knew that, thank you. He'd been witness to his life for the past thirty-eight years, if anyone knew, it was him.

"You think so?", Ryan's tone was between disbelief and joke.

Marshall crossed one of his arms in front of his chest, the other holding the phone. "I fucking know."

"Wanna make a bet?", Ryan suggested with a mean undertone.

"I'm in." Marshall never backed down from a challenge.

"Aight, let's test this right now. I'ma make you cum through the phone, that be enough proof. And when I won, you gotta do whatever I want for a night."

_Hell yeah! This boy knows how to use you right, bitch_. "You gon' do whatever I want, when I win?", Marshall asked back. _You never gonna win, slut. Alone the thought of his dick makes you cum._

"Sure, them's the stakes", Ryan agreed. "But you won't win."

"We'll see about that." _You gon' lose slut, and you're already hyped to answer all his wishes. Let's make another bet: He'll wear out your hole so bad, you gonna need a cork to keep from leaking. _"You're on."

"How 'bout you pinch your nipples as a starter", Ryan suggested.

"Oh hell no, forget it." As if Marshall was that kind of weirdo, who sat in his own kitchen playing with his own nipples. The fuck did Ryan think he was?

A small laugh through the line. "Aight, aight. I wonder, if just rapping to you be enough?"

"Fuck you", Marshall snarled in response. "I ain't that easy." _You're the easiest, little gay looking boy._ No question he was easy, way too easy for his own good, that was a scientific fact. But there was a limit to that, everything had a limit. A short a cappella rap wouldn't make him cum, surely not.

Ryan hummed a nice rhythm, a melody Marshall knew from somewhere and found seductive already. Probably memory playing him a trick, there were songs plenty that he'd had sex to, something he could always remember. The low buzz crackled through the phone line and caressed his ear. Then Ryan's smooth sultry voice rapped: "It's the first time together and I'm feeling kinda horny. Conventional methods of making love kinda bore me. I wanna knock your block off, get my rocks off, blow your socks off, make sure your G spot's soft."

Marshall bit his bottom lip, the voice was too close to his ear and he instantly had the beat in his mind. LL Cool J, as if he wouldn't recognize one of his favorite rappers. Worse, he loved LL's smooth voice too much and even more worse, damn he was hot as all hell. Having both men in his ears at the same time rose goosebumps on his arms and a shiver tickled his uncollared neck. There was nothing Marshall could do but respond: "I'ma call you Big Daddy and scream your name. Matter of fact, I can't wait for your candy rain." Words that tasted like truth on his tongue.

"So whatcha sayin'? I get my swerve on, bring it live, make it last forever. Damn, the kitty cat's tight."

Marshall shifted in his seat, a tension started building in his limbs he needed to get rid of, but couldn't. "Mmm … Daddy slow down your flow, put it on me like a G, baby, nice and slow. I need a rough neck fella, Mandingo in the sack who ain't afraid to pull my hair and spank me from the back." The thought made his warm skin prickle, instinctively he imagined Ryan to be rough with him and spank him. Also the original voice, which he absolutely should not have in mind but had anyway. Why was it sexy, when he called Ryan _Daddy_? The hot flash down his body just told him, how fucking sexy it was.

The tug in his groins answered to the rhythm of Ryan's dark voice: "No doubt, I'm the player that you're talkin' about."

"Mmhmm, but do you really think that you can work it out?" Marshall closed his eyes and saw Ryan on stage, a microphone in hand and the spotlight all on his tattooed, trained body. Like the good old days.

Ryan's sultry voice flowed through every word, as if this was all that ever needed to be said. "I guarantee you, Shorty, it's real. Baby, stick it out, here comes the man of steel."

Oh, as if Marshall wouldn't ever not stick his ass out for Ryan. Or LL, if he ever wanted it. Again he shifted in his seat, a tension contracting his muscles and he tried to find a way to sit, but there wasn't. A kitchen chair was the wrong thing to sit on, so damn wrong. He whispered the chorus more than he sang it: "Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well. Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well …" Ryan did it so very well.

"I'm in the mix now, searching for the right spot to hit now, get down", the voice on the other end of the phone continued and filled Marshall's ears out, filled his mind out and the thought of Ryan filling is ass out was vivid.

"Damn, I love a dick down. You use a rubber?" Not merely the words from the song anymore, but the actual thought in Marshall's mind.

LL answered: "Damn right."

"You are my lover", Marshall whispered with the melody.

Ryan promised: "All night."

"The pootie good to you? Heard the lover." His hole clenched around nothing, too sad. Someone should be inside there.

"Mad tight", Ryan assured. "The only thing left to do is climax. Let's make it last."

Marshall rubbed the swelling dick through his sweatpants and agreed wholeheartedly. "Word, we ain't going out like that. All this time you've been telling me that you is a Don."

"I tried to warn you, girl, you wouldn't listen. Now, let's get it on." There was another hot shiver, when Ryan called him _girl_. A rush of excitement in his stomach, when LL got things going.

Marshall hummed with pleasure, the two voices worked in tandem making him hot, making him picture a hotel room, naked bodies and hands touching him everywhere. "Mmm, you make me wild, don't do that. Chill, wait a minute, Baby, let me please you back." He licked over his lips and sucked the bottom one in, the only thing he could suck on right now. Not what he wanted to suck on, but a big, black, beautiful dick would feel so much better in his mouth. It should be in his mouth. He wanted for Ryan and LL to get it all. They deserved it for every flitter of pleasure he felt.

"You talk a good one, Shorty Love, you're making me sweat. How a live nigga like it, girl?", they asked, low smooth voices pouring down on Marshall.

"Nice and wet", he answered and damn he'd be all open and wet for them. Automatically his thighs spread wider, if only he could wrap his legs around LL, press Ryan closer, deeper. "We get it on to the break of dawn, damn, you're large. How a big girl like it, Daddy?" He gripped his hard member tighter. The thought of their big, black, beautiful dicks opening him wide was making him leak. The last word shot more heat into his groins.

"Nice and hard", the men answered in unison, like a bolt through Marshall's body. "Safe sexing it, flexing it, getting that affectionate. Chewing it, ooh'ing it. All while we're doin' it."

Marshall's whisper was more raspy now. "Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well. Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well …" It was wrong to sit on a kitchen chair, he should be sitting on a lap, held in place by a dick and a broad, muscular chest be his backrest. He shifted in his seat wanting, needing.

"Baby", Ryan's sultry voice whispered in his ear, "I wanna hit it in the worst way."

Anything Ryan wanted Marshall would do. Anything anywhere anytime, he'd always had and their sex been good. "You make it hot", Marshall whispered flirtatious. LL was a guy with class, maybe he would take him somewhere fancy and elegant, it'd make it all the more hot for Marshall's lewd, slutty half coming out to play. Contrast made things more intense.

"Scheming on the ass since the first day." Which he absolutely believed, Ryan and him hadn't spared no time to hook up. He was sure, LL'd prize his ass just as highly, now that Marshall was getting all worn and useful.

"Don't stop", he moaned as he had moaned so often before. "Damn, I love when you talk like that. Make it bounce, Sugar."

Ryan's voice stroked his ear tempting, an alluring tone all dark and sensual. "Long as you can bounce me back. More flesh than the Greek Fest." He could feel LL's tongue in his neck.

"Roll up the sess."

"Pass the Hennessy."

"Put my body to the test." An ode to all the Californian nights they've had: drunk and high and inside each other. The longing in his heart spread out through Marshall's body and made the want hotter, the need more urgent. A voice wasn't enough. "Wait, wait, Daddy, many fellas ago I was a young girl listening to how you flow. Now's my chance to hit you off, Daddy, I'm grown, from the back, from the side." _Just take me now_, a plead in his own voice.

Ryan's tone dark and sultry and smug. "Right, I'm in the zone. One of a kind when it's time to do mine, camcorder and the whole shit."

"Press rewind", the tape, their lives. Maybe then Ryan could actually be here and be inside him. Marshall moaned again, his hand on his dick knowing the sweet spot too good. "Let it flow on screen while we puffs the L. Layin' back in the cut while we're under the spell."

"Word life, I like the way the ep went down. Go to sleep, tomorrow I'll take you back downtown. We'll be-"

"Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well. Doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well …", and Marshall continued to hum the melody. His elbow braced heavy on the countertop, hand holding the phone to his burning ear and his body slumped over. The other hand in his pants rubbing and massaging his dick. Marshall held his eyes closed, clutching at the fantasy in his mind of Ryan's dick in his ass and LL doing it, doing it well …

A moment of silence passed. It was a long moment and Marshall's quiet moan was the only thing left to be heard.

Until Ryan asked sly and knowing: "What ya doin'?"

Marshall bit his bottom lip hard. His cheeks flushed hot and he felt like he shouldn't be doing this. Probably he shouldn't be sitting in his kitchen and jerking off to a friend on the phone. Or to the words spoken by one of his idols. He was too easy and there was no way in hell he could win this bet. But this didn't mean he would give up without a fight! He swallowed his arousal down and answered in as plain a voice as he could: "Thinking 'bout how disappointed LL would be, if he heard your wack-ass cover."

A sharp intake of air. "Can't be that wack, you're jerking off to me."

_He got you there, slut. _Marshall shifted in his seat again, still a chair instead of a dick, and looked around the kitchen a little haunted. Was somebody watching him? He felt watched, and worse caught. Not necessarily a bad feeling … The bet was already lost, wasn't it. "Oh, you thought that's for you? Sorry, got bored and thought of my boyfriend. My bad."

Ryan snorted dismissive. "Go ahead, you won't think of your boyfriend for long." If only he knew, how less Marshall had thought of his boyfriend. All Nicolas's fault, if he couldn't take from Marshall what he deserved, someone else needed to. The smooth voice took control: "Strike your dick all nice and slow. Take your time, follow my voice, I'm your rhythm. It's better, when it builds up."

Marshall bit his lip.

"Where you at?", Ryan asked.

"Kitchen."

Ryan hummed pleased. "Good, you like it offbeat. You imagine me rubbing your dick? Imagine my mouth at your ear? Me kissing you?"

A labored breath left Marshall. Now he was and it send a new, hot wave through his stomach.

"You love my tongue in your mouth, don't you. As much as you love my dick in your mouth, too."

Marshall's tongue licked at his lips and he sucked in the bottom one. Only thing he could have in his mouth.

"You're so eager to have your mouth filled, you suck your own fingers as if there's no tomorrow. Come, do it."

The hand left his dick and Marshall moaned disappointed, but a second later there were two fingers in his mouth and he gladly sucked them in deep.

"Think of my dick, get me in deep in your cute, little mouth. Show me, what tricks your tongue can do. You'd love to have my dick in your throat all day long. Hardly a day goes by, when you don't wanna suck a dick. You're so happy, when you suck my cock like a lollipop."

Marshall moaned around the wet skin of his fingers, around the hard flesh of a dick he wished was there. Of course Ryan was right: If only he could, Marshall's days wouldn't ever look different. Sucking off dicks was one of his fondest memories.

"You want me so deep in your throat, you can't breath no more. You rather have my dick inside you than air. It's like your mouth was made for this and this only, getting filled with a cock so much, you can hardly wrap your lips around. That's your dream, ain't it? Sucking a cock so big, it don't even fit."

Marshall whimpered at the image, the feeling of fullness that must cause. When everything was filled out by a dick, not just his mouth barely wide enough, but also his mind overwhelmed by every thrust. Ryan's dick wasn't quite that much, but it was big and beautiful nonetheless and Marshall loved it.

His body leaned over more and his forehead connected with the cold stone top. A stifled moan. Marshall put the phone down and quickly pressed for speakerphone, he needed his other hand on his throbbing dick.

"But you'll find a way to fit it in anyway. Even when your mouth's barely wide enough, you want it all. There's no cock in this world you wouldn't suck, ain't that right? How many cocks you had in your mouth? Do you even know? You think about them when you jerk off? Think about them now, how all these cocks fill your facehole and how this dick thrusts into you, how that cock fucks your face and how they taste on your tongue. Love that?"

He groaned low as an answer. The words made memories flash in his mind and Ryan's dick disappeared, a lovely one but … just one. Nicolas's flickered before his eyes, they had great moments together but the dick wasn't exceptional in its own right. Neither was the guy's from two weeks ago, unremarkable and bland. But sometimes he had luck and found a guy with a magnificent cock, thick and large and Marshall was allowed to act to his heart's content. Those dicks filled his mind and he could imagine them filling his mouth, one after the other thrusting into him and taking over his throat.

"Magnificent? You love it so much, it ain't funny no more. Always licking your lips and nibbling at them, 'cause you miss a cock in there, right? You need a dick in your mouth, thick and large, that's what you call lucky. Suck it, as if your life depended on it. Maybe it does, maybe that's why you chasing cock so much. Sucking dick ain't just your heart's content, it's your reason to live."

Marshall felt exposed, an agreeing moan. The wet fingers in his mouth only a substitute for a real dick and he wanted it bad. He needed it. A finger more filled his mouth, pushing in deep and his tongue clung to them. A salty taste. He thought back, dug out more memories of dicks tasting similar and filling out his mouth, fucking him harsh. He loved it. In the gray of a dimly lit motel room they all merged together, black and white, big and hard, long and thick - the dick in his mouth was it all and took what it deserved from him, they all did 'cause they all should.

"Can you feel it? My cock in your mouth, hard and ready to explode. How you like it more? Get the jizz all inside you and you swallow my gift like it's your elixir of life. Gonna make you drown in my cum and you thank me for it. Or you want me to shower you? I paint a picture on your face as a trophy so everybody can see your heart's desire. Sucking cock is your purpose in life and bathing in my cum is your bounty."

Marshall's breathing grew shallow. The thought of a dick cumming inside his mouth, cumming onto his face made him shiver with pleasure. He remembered the feeling as it was yesterday, the ecstasy of a dick pulsing and spewing inside him, the thrill of an orgasm hitting his face. Those dicks filling out his mind now filled him with cum, Marshall holding his mouth open for every drop to get inside, but it spilled over and dropped down his chin and he was just as satisfied when they missed and covered him from head to toe. The best proof of how good he been.

The hand on his own dick now jerked fast, rapid movements to get him over the edge himself. The image of dicks raining down on him was almost enough on its own. Almost and his hand knew how to do the rest. The splutter wet his pants. Marshall panted heavy.

"You're a cumslut." Ryan's voice was still smooth, but the tone was somewhere between cheer and scoff.

"Man, fuck off", Marshall answered raspy and weak. His jaw felt a little stiff, not yet ready to speak again, rather happy to suck more. With defeat he closed his eyes and enjoyed the cold stone from the countertop against his forehead.

"I won", Ryan wasn't one to let things go easy. "You can't deny that. Just a few dirty words and you cum, that's how fucking easy you are."

Marshall growled annoyed. His impulse was to talk back, to say it hadn't been the words but him sucking his fingers as a sad substitute for a real dick, or that it been just his imagination running wild of dicks past fucking his face, but that only was a score on Ryan's board. The motherfucker had scored enough points.

"A whole night and you'll have to do whatever I want", Ryan tried to sound out of his depth with the possibilities lying in front of him. But Marshall knew this was fake. "Give me a few days, this needs to be good."

He nodded curtly. "That was the bet." Marshall didn't mind the prospect of this, a whole night with Ryan just for sex was a night spent incredibly well. However, it peeved him to no end that he lost.

"Now, go and clean up before one of the girls comes in." That at least was a good idea by Ryan. The kitchen absolutely wasn't a place for something like this. "See ya at the party, aight?"

"Aight", Marshall confirmed. "I'll be there."

"Cool. And Marshall", Ryan lowered his voice a notch to say his words of goodbye, "Don't be sad that your deaf boy can't do this."

The line was silent.

* * *

The dialing tone was an assault on his ears. "Fuck", Marshall muttered to himself and paced around his home office. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He wiped a hand over his face, but this couldn't wipe away the situation. He had to make a decision now, the year was almost up, only hours left.

Finally, static in the line and a voice answered: "What up?"

"Hi, what up", Marshall answered and his steps halted for a moment. He was glad to hear Andre's voice and hope rose in his heart, that his friend and mentor would know what to do. "All good with you?"

"Yeah, the usual this time of year", Andre answered. "A few quiet days with the family are nice, but you get cooped in. No studio time, the woman's crazy sometimes."

Marshall smirked, a bit amused but also nervous. "She loves you, there's nothing wrong with wanting to spend some time with you then."

"I know, I know." Andre turned the question around: "And you? You sound stressed."

Of course his friend noticed, he was a rather observant person and always knew when something was up. A little like DeShaun had been. Marshall inhaled deeply before he answered, "I am." The admission left a sour taste in his mouth. "You got a minute?" How was he gonna say this? He was fucking it up with everyone: Nicolas, who he cheated on; Ryan, who he dragged down with him; now Andre, who he wanted to come out to? So many shitty ideas, they were flying low these days.

"'Course, always", Andre agreed. "Just send it over and I take a listen. It might take me a day or two, don't know if Nicole sees you as an exception. Probably not."

Marshall bit his lip. "Uh-no, nothing like that. It's … personal?" His friend wasn't the most open-minded person in the world, but then again he had believed in Marshall when no one else had, before they'd been friends. Would that be helping? Either it could convince that Marshall was still the same person and still worth believing in; or it might make the betrayal cut even deeper.

"Oh?", a surprised sound. "What kind of personal?"

"Uhm …" There was no right word to express this.

Andre's voice lowered with compassion. "Did you relapse? It's okay if that happened, it's part of the process. We get you through that, aight."

"No", Marshall shook his head pointless. "Nah, I'm good with that. It's … uh like, girl trouble in a way? Kinda." He was blowing it, and this wasn't the good kind of blow.

"Girls, like with the kids? I hope they're okay. C'mon man, just speak to me." Andre paused for a split second. "Oh God no, don't tell me you're trying it with Kim again? Man, I'm telling you, no. That ship has sailed a long-ass time ago, you stubborn mule."

"What? No no", Marshall answered quickly. "Kim's annoying and good riddance to her. 'S all good. And the girls' are fine, no worries."

A relived sigh. "Good. Then, what's up?"

Still no words known how to express this. "Uhm …"

"If you don't speak to me, I can't help you, Kid."

The familiar nickname sounded calming in Marshall's ears. "It's, uhm … I-I met someone?"

"You asking me that?", Andre joked. "Shouldn't you know?"

Marshall didn't find this funny. "Yah yah, I'm seeing someone, but … I'm fucking it up."

"Oh?", another surprised sound. "I didn't know you were looking for someone?"

"I wasn't." It'd be more accurate to say, he had been found by someone. But who said that? "It's a weird thing though and like I said, I'm fucking it up. I don't know what to do, so I do everything wrong." Marshall sighed and dropped down into his office chair. He couldn't make up his mind about Nicolas, but fooled around with Ryan no problem. This wasn't normal.

Andre chuckled softly. "Sounds like you, Kid."

"Very uplifting", Marshall muttered sarcastic. "You gon' help me or not?"

"I don't know what to tell you. I ain't really an expert in how to treat women or how to make a relationship work. I'm just lucky, man, that Nicole stuck with me this long, regardless how bad things got. All I can say is, talk to her."

Marshall sharply sucked in air through his nose. There, he had missed his opportunity to say it. "But you do some things right. I mean, you been married for as long as I known you. That ain't all luck."

"It's a lot of hard work, of course", Andre explained. "More on myself than on our relationship. Like I said, talk to her, be honest with her if you want things to work out. That's the only advice I really have."

"That ain't much of an advice." There was nothing actionable in that. They had talked, Nicolas had made his suggestion - but how was Marshall supposed to decide?

"And listen to her, that's also important. Like, really listen to her and think about her side of things. It's easy to dismiss shit, but that only leads to trouble."

Didn't Marshall know it. "Pff, you sound like my therapist."

"Maybe you should ask her for advice then?", Andre suggested most unhelpful.

Marshall grumbled more. "I can't." Not after the stunt he had pulled. Leaving a message like that on her voice mail was a dick move. Also, she deserved her vacation time, nothing he wanted to disturb unnecessarily. "I need a solution now, better yesterday."

"What do you think the problem is?", Andre asked curious. "Maybe she told you already and you didn't listen."

"I know, I know." He rubbed his temple half defeated. "We had a big ol' talk and shit. That's the problem, you know."

"What you mean? What you get into this time?"

Marshall looked at the drawing, which still lay on his desk. Nicolas staring back at him with those unwavering black eyes. "What d'you think?", he muttered gloomy. "I cheated and now shit's gone all wrong."

A deep sigh on the other end of the line. "Kid, why do you do this? You know, nothing good ever comes from shit like this."

Of course he fucking knew that! "That ain't the weird part yet. Listen to this: I was proposed an open relationship-thingy or whatever. Can you believe that? An open relationship, what the hell is that." As if this could work out! He couldn't even wait to sort things out with Nicolas before he cheated on him again. Giving him official approval to cheat however he wanted, that could only make things worse. He didn't need encouragement to be an even shittier boyfriend.

"She wants what?", Andre asked surprised and indignant. "You serious? The hell you will! Where you find these people? Unbelievable."

"That's what I said."

"How you always get yourself into trouble like this, Kid? Seriously, how? You sure you're sober? Sounds like you partied too hard and brought the wrong chick home." Andre had found him in compromising situations like this a few times, but as long as the work was getting done he hadn't really minded much. After all, it was part of their lifestyle. Or had been.

Marshall snorted frustrated. "Tell me 'bout it. Thing is, I kinda need an answer tonight."

"She gave you an ultimatum, too?", Andre asked with a biting tone.

"What? No!", Marshall refuted disgusted. That wasn't shit he fucked with. An ultimatum and he was out. "No, nothing like that, it was just a suggestion. But we're going to Ryan's party tonight, you know."

"So?"

"So, we haven't seen each other since the big talk and now I had a _few days to think about it._" And Marshall had thought about it a lot, but he couldn't reach a conclusion. Accepting the suggestion and making their relationship open was in some ways the logical thing to do. Marshall would be fucking other people either way and this way it might be okay. But that was exactly the reason he hated this suggestion so much. "Also, uhm, like the one I cheated with's gonna be there as well, so … Yeah, I need an answer now. What do I do?"

"Break up with her", Andre's answer was immediate.

"But-"

"It's that easy", he said confident. "Don't fall for a bitch like that, Kid. She ain't worth the trouble."

"But-"

"Listen to me, take the other one to the party and end of story." Andre sounded final.

"But-"

He huffed judgmental. "If she can't decide which dude to date, that makes your decision that much easier. Ain't nothing to think about here, don't lose any sleep over this."

"But-"

"Or worse is, she wants to fuck around haphazardly when she got you, that ain't worth your time, Kid. You deserve better than that", Andre insisted adamant.

"But-"

A little annoyance now grew in Andre's voice. "No buts, just dump her and moveon."

Marshall bit his bottom lip hard.

"Look", Andre continued, "If you want your relationship to work, you guys need to be on the same page. You need someone, who's committed to you. It don't work when only one of you's all in, but she's all in the wind. Know what I mean?"

Marshall's voice was uncomfortably thin. "I know." As always, he was the fucking problem. He was wrong. A useless, ugly nobody.

"Then you know, what you need to do."

Marshall swallowed hard. Andre was right, Nicolas should dump him, end of story. As long as he wasn't serious, this relationship would fall apart, they all would. The best he could do, was for Nicolas to break up with him. But the thought hurt. His hand came up to his neck and laid his fingers around it. The collar was dreadfully missing. "Yeah, I … Sorry I bothered you."

"Why you even consider this?", Andre asked disgruntled. "Stand up for yourself, Kid. There's no point in letting a girl walk all over you like this."

Marshall rubbed a thumb into his throat.

"Seriously, you're better than this. You don't need a chick like her. What you need is a good woman, one for the home, someone you can settle down with, you listen? A bitch like that though, who's only chasing her own fun and stringing along guys dumb enough to fall for her pussy or whatever - that ain't no good."

Marshall's jaw muscles tensed hard keeping his mouth shut, keeping the small sob inside.

"Don't be so naiv to think, you could change her", Andre warned. "You know better than this. Some bitches don't deserve your trust or your love. She don't really want you, or she would keep her legs closed."

Marshall swallowed hard, swallowing down the pain of truth like this and the inevitability of his reality.

"Tell her, she needs to get her shit together", was Andre's advice.

Marshall's voice croaked. "I-I don't think she can."

"Well, too bad."

"Yeah … too bad." He didn't deserve Nicolas. His boyfriend should be with someone better than Marshall, someone who deserved trust and forgiveness, someone who was willing to be serious and to commit, someone who was capable of love.

A softer tone. "Kid? I know this hurts, but that's nothing compared to the pain later down the road. Remember what you went through with Kim, how you two never put an end to things. That's worse than breaking up."

Marshall took a deep breath to steady himself. "You're right. Thanks, man, I needed that." Truth hurt, but that was a sign of importance. Facing yourself was the hardest, sometimes hearing it from a friend made it clearer. "Happy New Year's."

"Happy New Year's", Andre responded. "And Kid, everything's gonna be alright."

Hardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two songs referenced in this chapter:  
Fabian Römer - Bevor Ich Dich Kannte (translated by myself)  
LL Cool J - Doin' it feat. LeShaun


	53. This Fuckin' Black Cloud Still Follows Me Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve - Part 1.  
Marshall invites Nicolas to celebrate the night with his friends. Ryan has a special plan on what that would look like.

"You're coming with me", Ryan demanded as soon as the door opened. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled Marshall over the threshold and inside the house. With big steps he led the way.

Music spilled into the corridor, a 90's hip-hop beat.

Dumbfounded, Marshall stared at the big hand clutching his wrist, his gaze traveled up to the broad back walking in front of him. The strong pull had him stumble after his friend. "Wait, what? But-", he stammered. A look over his shoulder to Nicolas, who entered the doorway after him and was left behind. All Marshall managed was a short gesture downstairs, before he was dragged around a corner.

"The bet, remember", Ryan explained half-heartedly, capturing back Marshall's attention. In actuality, the distance only spanned a few steps until they reached the little alcove next to the door with the guest bathroom, the wall was more separation than the space, but the urgency messed up perception. He pushed Marshall into the room and closed the door behind them. A smirk. "I wanna cash in tonight."

Marshall tugged at his winter jacket that Ryan's pull had disheveled. "Can't I come in first?" Usually his friend had more patience than this, a lot more patience than Marshall usually had. If anyone would pull somebody immediately into a corner to make out and more, Marshall's name was high up that list. _Your name's the king on that list. You don't wait for a corner, you'd make out on stage or on national TV if the guy was hot enough._ Or the girl, he wasn't all that picky. Not that he was averse to blow Ryan tonight, as he promised, but he didn't expect to start the night this way.

On Ryan's face sat a suggestive grin. "You have to do what I want all night, no talking back here." His big hand, that had pulled Marshall aside so rudely, fondled the light skinned face and the two men shared a brief kiss.

"Is that an order?", Marshall asked skeptical but not serious. "Usually you like it when my mouth goes off." Maybe he had underestimated what ideas his friend would come up with. A night filled with sex and even more sex was a great way to celebrate the new year, but weren't their friends here? Something felt amiss.

"We'll be getting to that", Ryan promised. He turned to a small cupboard and took a bottle of lube out of a drawer. "Now, drop your pants and bend over."

That was a bit callous, wasn't it. "C'mon man", Marshall objected slightly, "I like it quick and dirty as much as the next guy, but I'd like to settle in first." Or at the very least be kissed passionately. He had sex for pleasure, not as a transaction. _Don't kid yourself, slut. You don't want to be loved, you want to be fucked. Just get naked and spread your legs. _So, he took his thick jacket off and put it on the closed toilet seat, in the end he'd agree to any type of sex and Ryan knew that.

"Just do it, aight." Ryan shot him a confident look as he poured some lube on his fingers. "You gonna love it."

That Marshall didn't question, so he shrugged and opened his belt. "But don't be a dick, there's a whole night I wanna enjoy." Not that Ryan took all the fun out of him and left Marshall with nothing._ C'mon, you love it hard and rough. If you can't move afterwards, he did it right. It's what a fag like you dreams of, getting torn down by a dick. _His pants fell to the floor, the belt buckle clattered a little and Marshall turned around. Facing the sink, he braced himself against the porcelain and displayed his naked ass. With a smirk he wiggled it. "This good?"

"Perfect", Ryan purred and squeezed the ass cheek, fingertips enjoying to dig into the firm flesh. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing, aight." Then a cool, lube covered fingertip tapped against Marshall's hole and circled the ring of muscle to spread the gel, to make easier what would inevitably follow.

The assurance didn't track well with Marshall. A long time ago he had learned this sentence didn't mean nothing good. But he liked the warm sensations rising up his spine and the playful tug at his hole. _Bitch, please._ Okay, he loved it! Happy now? With closed eyes he diverted all his focus to his ass to not miss a second of Ryan kneading his cheek or the fingers stretching him open. _You're obsessed with it, just look at yourself, slut. _Marshall opened his eyes and caught himself in the mirror above the sink. The bottom lip sucked in between his teeth, a smile coloring the edges of his mouth and his otherwise bright blue eyes darkened by widened pupils.

A moan buzzed in his chest as a hard object was slowly pushed into his hole. Not a dick, clearly. Marshall looked back over his shoulder and frowned that Ryan still had all his clothes in order. Not his dick, even more clear. "A dildo, really?" What was his friend up to? A toy didn't make things quick and dirty. Then, the short toy bottomed out and Marshall realized it wasn't a dildo but in fact a butt plug. He found that more confusing.

"You love to have things inside you", Ryan explained with the same suggestive grin as before. "I'm just making your night better." He kneaded Marshall's ass with both hands, smearing some of the lube around a cheek. Standing behind, he pressed his denim covered crotch against the naked body, the pressure jerked the toy lightly. Enough.

A small moan caught in Marshall's throat and he let it out with an audible exhale. "You expect me to spend the night like this?" But he couldn't keep his hips from pressing back, pressing against Ryan and the rough fabric caressed his skin. The toy lightly moved more.

"Don't tell me, you ain't excited about it." The smug smile on Ryan's face was annoying but also deserved. A hand traveled up Marshall's stomach and rucked up the white t-shirt. The contrast stunningly reflected in the mirror, Ryan's black skin against the white cloth and Marshall's white skin underneath. The fingers caressed a nipple, the colors seemed to tell a story: that a dark force was disturbing peace and virginity. They both knew, these nipples had never been virgins.

"Ain't telling you shit", Marshall muttered, but how his ass was still rubbing against Ryan said enough. Heat was pooling in the pit of his stomach and leaking down. The thought of spending the night half aroused was equal parts exciting and frustrating. _Don't think, the rest of the guys gonna be turned on by you rubbing one out in the middle of the party. You're the only one here who can't resist a dick. You're like a dog with bone._ "Everyone's here, don't forget that", he said that more to remind himself than Ryan.

"So?" His friend stepped back a little and winked for Marshall to put his pants back on. "I'm sure, they won't pounce on you or something."

_Sad, ain't it? All these dicks and you can't have them. What's a slut to do?_ There was a fake one in his hole, seemed like a good start. "I know that", he huffed and pulled his briefs up. The soft fabric usually was hardly noticed, but now a tingle crept along where it touched his sensitive skin. "What I mean is, we can't do this in front of them. What if they see something?" _Although, two dicks out of six ain't the worst ratio, we can work with that._

Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. "Then, don't let them see something. Easy."

"Easy for you to say", he growled. The jeans didn't help with the low burning arousal, but in fact gave a stiffer, coarser barrier for his dick to rub against. Whichever way he tugged things, this just wouldn't go away. "Do I really have to?" If it be just the two of them, he'd have no objections to this idea at all. But the rest of their friends? That was a slightly different story. _Only because they won't fuck you_. Precisely.

"You have to do what I want for the whole night", Ryan insisted on their bet. For a short moment, he washed his hands to get the remnants of lube off.

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I fucked up, I get it. I shouldn't've stood you up, won't happen again. Promise." Didn't mean, this was good punishment. _Oh really? This is the perfect punishment, fag. _Or more like, he wasn't really comfortable including people in their little game who had nothing to do with this. He was lucky enough that his friends hadn't abandoned him now that they knew, last thing he needed was to push his luck by doing gay shit right in front of their eyes. _Maybe one'll get curious and joins in? There's always room for one more dick in your pussy._ That sounded like wishful thinking, honestly.

"This has nothing to do with the other night." Ryan smiled warmly at him and raked his fingers through Marshall's shortly cropped hair. "We made a bet that I won and I'm cashing that in."

"But-" What was he objecting to? Of course it'd be awkward and embarrassing and distressing all at once, especially when he'd be trying to hide his erection halfway through the night. No way in hell having a toy in his ass for God knew how long wouldn't turn him on massively over the course of the night. Sooner rather than later._ It's turning you on already, homo. Wiggle your ass, feel the fake dick inside you_. It wouldn't be the first time his friends saw him turned on. But being this deliberate about it was new.

Judging by Ryan's grin, his friend knew exactly what was running through Marshall's head and counted on it all to happen. "It's just a little toy, don't get your panties in a twist." He opened the bathroom door. "Come, let's enjoy the party."

Marshall huffed sarcastically at that. Carefully he checked that his pants fit correctly and didn't show anything suspicious. He felt fucking suspicious. Grabbing for his jacket, he left the bathroom. Already the first curt step presented the toy in all its disruptive glory. Moving his legs made it jerk and the impact of his feet hitting the ground sent a wave right through it and by extension through him. _Hahaha! You gon' slow fuck yourself the whole night. I love it, bitch._ As Marshall went around the corner back to the door and the coatrack, he halted in his steps surprised yet again. Nicolas was still standing there. "You could've gone inside. They don't bite."

"What's he doing here?", Ryan growled and shot a dark look over to Nicolas. The playful smile was gone from his face.

Nicolas cocked his head to the side, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men in front of him.

"I brought him along?", Marshall explained the obvious. Why was that even a question? Of course he brought his boyfriend along to celebrate New Year's. Just 'cause Ryan kicked his wife out, didn't mean other people wouldn't want some romance at midnight.

An irritated huff. "You didn't tell me you would", the tone audibly pissed off. Ryan's eyes still shot sharp daggers towards Nicolas.

"Didn't think I had to." Marshall shrugged casually. He hung his jacket on the coatrack and gave a tentative, hopefully encouraging smile to his boyfriend.

Nicolas's face was stoic as ever. If he was annoyed or upset by Ryan's rudeness, he didn't show. Maybe he didn't care? After all, Nicolas was very selective about what he cared and what he put energy into.

Stepping forward, Ryan planted himself deeply into Nicolas's space. "It's my party." Using the height difference, Ryan looked down on the other man as condescending and threatfully he possibly could. And he could be a rather imposing man.

Nicolas didn't blink, which Marshall wasn't surprised by. He imagined, his boyfriend had been in quite a number of fights and in some dangerous situations before. Alone being security for a bar brought this with it, being security for a brothel possibly even more so and whatever exactly Nicolas did outside of that probably was more dangerous even. If his boss bet on whether or not Nicolas would survive an altercation, that kind of told you everything you needed to know.

But, Ryan didn't know. And Marshall had no desire to change this. Already Ryan wouldn't shut up about how bad and dangerous Nicolas was, how he wasn't any good for Marshall. This didn't need any proof, he'd never hear the end of it. He pulled at Ryan's shoulder. "Come, let it be, aight."

This moved Ryan to look at Marshall. An angry frown tightened his eyebrows and the lines of his mouth were warped into upset and hardness.

Marshall held the gaze, trying to stay calm but also stand his ground. He wanted his boyfriend here, period.

A growl as Ryan finally broke away and turned his gaze to the intruder again. "Don't try anything funny", he warned.

»I'm never funny«, Nicolas signed.

"Come, let's get some drinks." Marshall grabbed for his boyfriend's arm and pulled him downstairs.

Ryan had built himself a little man cave in the basement. Of course there was a TV set with game consoles and couches, but also a foosball table and in the far corner was a dartboard hanging. A counter had been built close to the staircase, mostly serving different kinds of alcohol, but a microwave was there as well. They had spent some long, fun nights down here. Now, Denaun was crouching in front of the TV and fiddled with the cables connecting it to the consoles and receivers.

Von held different remotes in his hands and pressed some buttons. "That's the wrong jack", he gave some helpful advice to his bud.

"That's what she said." Rufus and Ondre sat on one of the couches and made fun of their friends.

At the counter Marcus was eyeing up the plate of pretzels. He was Ryan's younger brother and used to tour with the guys quite a lot the past couple of years. The guys still did concerts as D12, just Marshall couldn't bring himself to join.

It was a small get-together of friends more than an actual party, but Marshall liked it this way. To be honest, he had partied enough in his life, arguably too much. Being more honest, he should quit going to clubs as well.

Descending down the stairs, the toy jittered quite excited in his hole with this different kind of movement and Marshall hadn't noticed in a while how much force a body generated while stepping down something. Bodyweight was nothing to mess with. At the bottom of the stairs, he gestured toward the couches for Nicolas to take a seat. »I get us some drinks.« He walked over behind the counter and opened the fridge.

But the door was pushed shut immediately. Ryan cornered him in, hands left and right of Marshall's head braced against the door. Under his breath he hissed: "I don't want him here."

"I don't care", Marshall whispered back. His back leaned against the man-high fridge as he looked up to his friend. There was something undeniably sexy about this pose. Or was that just the toy speaking? _It's your horny ass speaking, little gay looking boy._

"It's my house", Ryan insisted, "And my basement. And my party. I decide, who's welcome here."

"Then decide that he is. Easy." Their faces were close, so the whispered words between them only reached their ears. Ryan's scent reached Marshall's nose, musky, heavy and dark.

Ryan growled low. "He ain't. I want him to leave. Either you make him, or I throw him out." Their noses almost touched. The fierce sheen in Ryan's ink-black eyes made Marshall's heart jump.

But he stayed stubborn on this: "If you throw him out, you throw me out." Which would be a fucking shame, he rather have Ryan threw him on the counter and dicked him down hard.

A dark snarl. "Jerk", Ryan answered and his eyes searched Marshall's face for an opening, a way to make him surrender.

Marshall stared back, not yielding and not afraid.

"Fine, he can stay." Ryan took his hands away from the fridge door, but he stayed close. "But, you can't tell him."

"What?", Marshall asked confused. "About what, the bet?"

A short nod.

Marshall had a queasy feeling in his stomach. It wasn't good or fair that he already had some sex game going with Ryan and he hadn't been here five minutes. It wasn't surprising either, but considering he had a boyfriend in someone else, this was pretty bad. But now, he couldn't even tell it all was for a bet? He had to do whatever Ryan wanted for the whole night - which already included a butt plug, what kind of start was that anyway? - but couldn't tell his boyfriend about it? _What difference would it make, slut? Bet or no bet, you'd have a fake dick in you no seconds flat. A real dick even faster, regardless who asked._ This spelled a whole lot of drama, didn't it? "You're a mean little shit sometimes."

"Take it or leave it", Ryan offered with a tone of finality in his voice. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, more finality.

Marshall sighed. "Aight, whatever. Won't do what you think it will." Hopefully it wouldn't.

The suggestive grin was back with a hint of mean. "Let me worry about that."

"You ain't clever here", Marshall said with a smirk himself. He pulled the fridge door open again and at last took out two bottles of pop. "This ain't a cheesy soap opera, he won't fall for this." Just because Marshall couldn't tell Nicolas that this was a bet, it wouldn't make his boyfriend jump to the worst possible conclusion. Hopefully. Nicolas hadn't flipped out after he first found out Marshall had cheated on him, why would he now?

"Then you have nothing to fear." Ryan turned around and walked away, walked over to their friends on the couches and seated himself in the nearest armchair.

Marshall cocked his head, as his gaze followed the moves. Ryan was one sexy-ass motherfucker, nothing to deny. He had everything Marshall liked: a broad back, some muscles, tattoos, an ass too tasty to pass up, big hands and a handsome face. _Don't forget the dick you love, homo. _Of course he loved Ryan's dick, big and black and beautiful and Marshall would swear, his mouth was crafted just for this. But Ryan's attitude sometimes pissed him off. _He just knows how to handle a fleeting slut like you. If he doesn't nail you down hard, you're on to the next dick_. True, didn't mean Marshall would take this lying down. _Bitch, please. Taking things lying down is your hobby._ He had never taken someone's shitty attitude to his face and he wouldn't start with this bullshit. If Ryan wanted to play games, so they would.

Stepping from the counter, Marshall walked over to the couches as well. The wiggle of his ass was very much on purpose as he passed Ryan in his armchair. Certain, his friend's eyes were on him.

His boyfriend's eyes were. »I can leave«, Nicolas signed, being too nice and too considerate. He had taken his seat on one of the couches, Denaun taking up the space next to him.

Marshall shook his head and handed over the drink. »Stay.« He settled down on the armrest next to his boyfriend and the slight curve fit perfectly against the toy, pressing it deeper inside. He bit his lips to curb the delight he could feel rise at the corners of his mouth. It wouldn't take long for Nicolas to pick up on this game and Marshall could see this go either of two ways: One, Nicolas had a couple mean tricks up his own sleeve and would join in the game. This was the option with the most fun, albeit Marshall still didn't like his other friends being here. Two, Nicolas would have enough of Marshall, because doing a sex game in front of his boyfriend that wasn't his boyfriend's … Well, that wasn't any good, was it. This was the option Marshall dreaded but if he believed in Nicolas's words, it was the less likely one. Hopefully.

"This some fucking bullshit", Denaun grumbled, now he was fiddling with the remotes. "Dude, your shit is broken."

"Only if you broke it", Ryan replied from the other side of the seating area.

Marshall nipped from his pop. "What's the problem?" The TV screen was black and he assumed his friends were trying to get one of the game consoles running. Emphasis on trying.

"His set-up is shit, that's the fucking problem." Everything about Denaun, from his voice to his face to his posture said: I'm fucking pissed!

"It ain't, you just can't handle it. Here, let me do it." Ryan winked to hand the remote controls over to him. Logic said, it's his set-up, he should be able to handle it.

Situations like these were precisely why Marshall liked his entertainment center to be as easy as possible. Too many remotes, too many buttons, too many cables - all that just invited chaos and frustration. "Did you turn it on?", he suggested.

A sigh from the other couch. "Yes, Marshall", Von said with the patience of a kindergarten teacher, "We started with step one, like every sane person."

"Just sayin', usually you fuck up something basic with these things." Or he at least did.

"We could've gone to a club", Rufus suggested, "That got all the advantages, y'know. For example, not this shit." He gestured toward the black screen.

"Nah, too full. You know how crazy shit gets when he's spotted", and Ryan nodded toward Marshall. "New Year's already a frenzy."

Marshall stuck his tongue out in defiance. What Ryan really wanted to say was, if they went out into the public, he couldn't stick a fake dick inside Marshall, much less a real one. And the fake dick did an impeccable job of turning him on, balancing his seat on the armrest was continuously shifting Marshall's body slightly and with it the toy moved, the pressure of his bodyweight held the toy deep inside. Heat was dripping into his groin and the touch of denim proved hard to bear. Marshall had a difficult time not tugging at his crotch every five seconds.

"Besides", Ryan went on, "Everything we need we got here: beer, hot dogs, music and firecrackers. And if you let me handle my own shit, the game would be on already." The last part was directed at Denaun.

Briefly the question popped into Marshall's head, why that hadn't happened from the start. Only answer was an internal shrug. Sometimes things didn't work out the obvious way and they all felt very much at home at each other's places. It wasn't a big deal to go through each other's stuff, as long as the stuff worked at least.

Denaun threw the remote over. "Fine, do your thing. Whatever, I don't care. I'd be pissed either way, dude. You forgot the chicks." A grave sin in Denaun's book.

Marshall rolled his eyes. Couldn't Denaun go out once without picking up some random chick? The world had other things to offer. _Says the fag who bounces from one dick to the next. The same fag, who's playing a sex game right fucking now. The same fag, who picks up chicks left and right even though he's fucking gay. You only know one thing, bitch_. He really fucking needed his therapist to fix him already. As much as he liked casual sex, he wasn't doing it normal.

"Your singer friend working tonight?", Denaun asked and leaned closer to Nicolas. "Would be a shame to miss that." His tone not as light as usual, still a little bit miffed about their technical problems.

Nicolas shook his head, unclear if this meant she wasn't working or if Denaun's persistence was unwelcome. Either way, the rejection was clear and that was enough.

"So what? Let's call up a couple chicks, no problem." Marcus fished out his phone from his pants pocket.

"Nah", Ryan waved his brother's effort aside. "I promised no chicks tonight." While he pushed some buttons on the remote, his face drew into a frown. That was a bad sign.

Rufus smirked. "Trouble with your wifey?"

Taking a big, guilty gulp from his pop, Marshall ordered himself to keep his mouth shut. His hole clenched excited around the toy. That promise didn't mean shit. Didn't his wife know? Maybe she didn't think Ryan would hook up with one of his friends and granted, Marshall couldn't really picture that either, but … There was a toy in his ass and he hoped to God, Ryan's wife had never used it before. He shifted uncomfortable on the armrest and the toy quivered inside him.

"No trouble", Ryan denied and shook his head, "Just, I promised to keep the house clean. Nothing wrong with that." He got up from his chair and walked over to the TV, consoles and receivers. Him pressing the buttons on the remotes hadn't had any different effect than Denaun doing the same thing. Shocker.

The toy inside Marshall begged to differ. "Sure, keep the house clean. Squeaky clean in fact", he muttered sarcastic. Welp, so much for keeping his mouth shut.

Ryan looked over his shoulder and smirked. "You got something to say? Fun with friends is good enough, don't you think?"

"Oh, it's the best", Marshall responded with a wide, fake smile.

Nicolas eyed them both up suspiciously. »Is he an asshole again?«, he signed, »I got a score to settle still.«

»Don't worry«, Marshall signed back. What else was there to say? He couldn't talk about the bet and to be fair, the whole thing didn't exactly exonerate Ryan from being an asshole anyway. Should he just say, he had a toy in his ass? That didn't fly either.

A dismissive huff. "You gonna translate for him all night?", Ryan asked disgruntled and his mean glare was on Nicolas.

"Or you could learn a few signs", Marshall suggested snarky. This was the attitude he detested, their little sex game itself was fine with him. "Ain't that hard. Here, I teach you one." He flattened his hand, held his fingers together and made his index touch his forehead. Like a karate chop to the front of his head. "That's douchebag. Maybe you can relate."

Ryan flipped him the middle finger in response. "I ain't learning shit."

"Evidently." Marshall repeated the sign, calling Ryan out again. On his lower back he felt Nicolas's hand gently stroking him, the hot flash to his groin caught him by surprise and his whole body tensed up.

"Just get me a drink while I fix this, aight", Ryan asked annoyed and focused his attention back to his entertainment system.

Probably was better than sitting, with how the armrest so relentlessly pressed against the toy, pushing it deeper. At least, that's what it felt like, even though in reality it shouldn't and Marshall liked to know if the flared base was enough. Not that his ass grew too eager but the toy couldn't handle it and his night ended in the emergency room. That would suck big time.

Leaving his own drink on the couch table, Marshall stood up and went back to the counter and the fridge. His steps were slow, he didn't need any sudden jerks from the toy just because he walked too brisk. Inconveniently, he was a guy with a fast walk normally and to deliberately be slow felt awkward and suspicious. He inhaled deeply when he arrived at the fridge and opened the door. The night hadn't even started yet and he was already losing control over his desires. Just perfect.

"Ha!", a triumphant call and the TV screen lit up colorful.

Marshall tugged at his jeans, but how the fabric rubbed over his dick and him touching it made the hot feeling worse. He bit down on his bottom lip and rather took out a bottle of beer from the fridge. Maybe concentrating on an actual task, was a good course of action? _How about you get down on your knees and suck some dick?_ Something not sex related, please. He wanted to get his mind off of the toy, not lose his head over it.

With his friend's drink in hand, he walked back to the cluster of couches. Ryan was sitting in his armchair again, a game controller in his hand and navigated the menu of a game. Mario Kart. A smirk hopped onto Marshall's lips, he could play that game. A lot of modern video games were too complicated for him, so many things to watch out for and everything moved too fast, so they ended up exhausting him more than being a fun distraction. But Mario games were always fun. He put the drink down on the low table and snatched the controller out of Ryan's hands. "Who wants to lose?", he asked jokingly and selected Donkey Kong for himself to play.

"Ey, dude", Ryan whined and grabbed for the controller. "Get your own."

"But I have one." Marshall fended off the grab and held the controller high above his head. At least sitting down Ryan couldn't just reach up.

Ryan put his arms around Marshall's waist to wrestle him down and get the controller within arm's reach. "You have mine, jerk."

Pushing and shoving against Ryan's shoulder, Marshall tried to hold his torso up. "Now it's mine, pighead."

"Fuck you." He got a hold of Marshall's shoulder and pulled down strongly.

Marshall's comparatively slender frame hadn't much to push back and he sank onto Ryan's lap. "It's mine, fuck off." It didn't sound as harsh as he wanted it to. Sitting on the other's knee, the leg pressing into Marshall's groin that was already too sensitive made him aware of how close their faces were. Only an unlucky twitch and their lips would meet. He swallowed hard. Best thing he could do: Hand over the controller and move the fuck away.

Ryan's grin was warm. "Fine, keep it." A hand lay on Marshall's lower back just as warm and pleased. "I could help you, though?", he suggested.

"I don't need your help", Marshall grumbled, but he stayed. Turning around, so he could face the TV, he found a comfy position across Ryan's lap to sit. Not only comfortable but also delightful in other ways. There was a little bounce in Ryan's leg and it made the toy inside Marshall quiver ever so slightly.

"I'll give it to you anyway", a suggestive smirk accompanied those words. Oh, Ryan would give it to him good, no doubt. A hand held on to Marshall's knee, the big hand spreading out along his thigh and maybe it was enough pretend to look like he was keeping Marshall from sliding off.

It wasn't enough pretend for it to feel like that. A tingle grew from where the hand touched him and slowly spread to the rest of Marshall's body. He shifted, but that only moved the toy inside of him. This was fucking suspicious! Marshall threw a quick glance to his friends sitting around the couches, but Denaun, Rufus and Von were focused on the TV, selecting their characters to play and talking smack to each other. Of course Von had to remind everyone that he had won last time.

Then his eyes met Nicolas's. Marshall swallowed hard. »You're such a child«, his boyfriend signed.

Fucker. »At least I know how to have fun«, Marshall signed back more aggressively than he meant. It wasn't his intention to insinuate, Nicolas wouldn't know how to have fun or wouldn't have fun at all. But he felt relief in his chest, which he felt stupid for and didn't want anyone to know about. As long as Nicolas was teasing him, things were fine.

When the game started, Marshall focused all his attention on the screen and the controller in his hands. As much fun as this was, he still wanted to win. After all, winning was half the fun, right?

"Watch out", Ryan advised directly into his ear, the hand on Marshall's lower back squeezed fondly.

Marshall's whole body tensed up and gave a jerk, the toy jerked with and Marshall shuddered. His attention focused back on the toy and how his hole clenched around it wanting and needing, back on his dick and how his clothes made tantalizingly too much contact, back on Ryan and how he was too close and too hot and too inviting to ride right here, right now. _Just spread your legs and ride, little gay looking boy. Just spread them open wide and let all them dicks inside._

"See, you do need my help", Ryan noted with satisfaction.

_Hold that dick like a joystick_. He wished! His fingers clung to the plastic in his hands, only a half-decent reminder that he couldn't allow himself to follow his impulses. Not here, not now. "No, I don't", he muttered through his teeth. He had to hold himself together, this wasn't the place nor the time to lose control.

The little bounce in Ryan's leg made the toy jitter in rhythm, but it was small and short and so not enough. Hardly enough to stir up his dick, only enough to make it unbearable.

"Yeah! Eat my dust, bitches!", Von exclaimed, the controller raised above his head victorious.

The race was over and Marshall had lost. "Aw man!"

"You should've listened to me", Ryan explained cocky.

"Shut up", Marshall growled. He had listened to Ryan and all it got him was distraction. Worse, a distraction he couldn't do anything with. Frustrated he threw the controller onto the coffee table. "This shit's rigged."

»Maybe you played with the wrong joystick«, Nicolas suggested from across the room.

Marshall smirked. »Definitely. I'm better with a live one.«

His boyfriend mirrored the smirk.

"What're you two on about?", Ryan asked, pulling Marshall even closer.

"Couple's stuff", he answered dismissively. He plucked the other's hands from his body and stood up. "You can have the next round." Standing felt slightly better, less pressure, less body heat. He tugged at his pants, telling himself to act natural while he tried to cover up all signs of arousal. _Who's gonna believe that, slut?_ With slow steps he walked around the couches to his boyfriend and to his drink. He emptied the bottle of pop, but unsurprisingly this didn't change nothing.

For once, Nicolas's eyes weren't watching him but still rested on Ryan. The lines of his face calm and unimpressed; whereas Ryan's frown was dark and intense. A mean stare down.

Marshall sighed low. Would these two ever stop fighting? What he needed was some real distraction. _I know how to fuck two birds with one hole._ Distraction from them fighting but also distraction from the toy inside him and the feelings that came with that. With the same slow steps as before, Marshall walked over to the stereo system. It was a weird mixture of old and new, a computer not too old was hooked up to speakers and an amplifier from twenty years ago. They just didn't build these with the same quality anymore. Music always raised Marshall's spirits. This would calm him down and be fun at the same time, after he had so miserably lost he could use a little pick-me-up. His eyes browsed the playlist on the computer screen and as he found one of his idols' name, he grinned. This would work perfectly. A click later the song began and a female voice was whispering sexy. Marshall turned the volume up high and his leg tapped to the beat. Rapping along with his idol, he swayed his body to the rhythm: "The club was far from empty, it was crowded at the entry. I slide right through like how I do, this girl began to tempt me …"

LL's smooth, sexy voice filled the room, spread out into every corner and every one of Marshall's cells. _Yeah, shake that ass for me, c'mon, slut, shake that ass for me._ Usually the voice didn't turn him on this much, only sometimes his ears were too sensitive to a recording. How was it only a day and a half ago? Not that it had been the very first time, admittedly, but for the first time in a very, very long while. Probably he hadn't jerked off to LL's voice or one of his other idols since his early twenties. Like with everything else, his life had changed drastically in the meantime and that more than once. Marshall felt a little dirty having the smooth voice blast through his body like this all hot and sexy, but dirty in the good way.

However, he didn't want to dance by himself, wasn't that a lonely picture? _Yeah, shake that ass for me, c'mon, slut, shake that ass for me. _It happened from time to time, but here he was with friends and his boyfriend - no need to feel alone. So, he pulled Nicolas with him to the bit of free space in front of the speakers. He could eye wrestle later just as well, now Marshall was more important. And Marshall wanted to dance and enjoy moving to the music a little. Sometimes he felt, as if the beat of the music was like the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears had the same rhythm as the instruments in the song and he just had to move.

So did the toy. _Yeah, shake that ass for me, c'mon, slut, shake that ass for me. _Dancing with a toy in his hole wasn't a wise decision, Marshall had to realize quickly. In hindsight, not a surprise. Not that this hampered his vibes, but he was touching Nicolas more than this sort of club hit normally required. Marshall's hands were desperate for contact, his whole body was but his hands were the only part that could actually cop a feel. First lightly, hesitantly he was stroking Nicolas's chest but soon he got bolder touching, grabbing, kneading the muscles and flesh underneath his fingertips, underneath the gray shirt, sometimes pulling at the buttons. A shame, he couldn't feel the warm, scarred skin.

The sex toy was burning him from the inside. A stark reminder how someone else had already claimed him for this night. Somebody who wasn't his boyfriend, but in constant fighting with the same. A bet, that was only an excuse and Marshall knew that. If he got naked now and jumped Ryan's dick in front of everyone, it could hardly be more embarrassing and more hurtful. Surely, Nicolas had to know, right?

Quietly, Nicolas's hands took over Marshall's back, strong fingers caressing and rubbing his shoulder blades or along the spine and thumbs traced Marshall's ribs through the fabric of his t-shirt. The closeness made their movements more sensual and the smirk on the thin lips revealed how on purpose this was. Warm air stroked against Marshall's cheek, their breaths mingled and lips too close not to touch but trying to resist. A little game between the two of them, because Nicolas was a fucking tease.

Nervous, wanting Marshall licked his lips. His eyes darted between the matte black eyes, he got absorbed in so easily, and the mouth, he so badly wanted to taste. It didn't matter if LL's voice made him hot or if Ryan's toy got his dick hard, as long as Nicolas would be the one to reap the rewards.

_If the reaper had a dick, you'd fuck him, too._

Not for long and hands landed on Marshall's ass. A relishing squeeze and he had to bite down a moan, his body pressed along his boyfriend's to not miss a single touch. Cloths masked most of the rough feel of fingertips and the warmth of scarred skin, but Marshall remembered it all too well and the lingering arousal told him, he could feel it now. His hardening dick pressed flush against the well-toned abdomen. Until Nicolas's fingers made contact with the toy and pushed against it.

Marshall's body froze.

Catching his eyes, Nicolas raised his eyebrows quizzically. Again he pushed against the toy.

Marshall dug his fingers hard into Nicolas's sides and his heart didn't dare to beat.

The smirk on the thin lips broadened into a mean, knowing smile. He brought his mouth right to Marshall's ear and said in this husky voice of his: "My adorable slut." Not actually a whisper, but only meant for the two of them.

Marshall's face flushed immediately, heat rose into his cheeks and all over his face, even into the tips of his hair. The soft s-sound made his knees soft.

"What're you doing?", words spoken in an angry tone. It took a moment for Marshall to shift his gaze and see Ryan standing next to them, arms folded across his chest and the face wrinkled into a frown.

"Da-dancing", he stuttered. _Only 'cause you're too chicken to actually get some dick inside you, pussy_. Marshall swallowed hard so words had it easier to roll off his tongue. "…" What were words?

"Don't look like dancing to me." Ryan shot him a skeptical look and his eyes landed on Marshall's ass demonstrably.

Nicolas's hands still lay there and just as demonstrably squeezed the butt cheeks. Without speaking, he found many ways to state his defiance.

In his life, Marshall had been in many surreal situations and other moments that couldn't possibly be true but still were. This was one of the more absurd ones. _Just to recap if your brains already off, slut: You have your side lover's toy in your ass, while dancing with your main lover. Not only does your main lover play with said toy, now your side lover crashes the dance._ "You gotta be kidding me", he muttered. How was this his actual life? _I got a solution: Make it a double and whoever makes you cum first, wins._

"Just sayin'", Ryan explained and forced nonchalance into his voice, "This is a party for the homies, he needs to fall in line or bust. It's as easy as that."

"He didn't do nothing wrong", Marshall argued back, the heat of arousal turning into heat of anger. "Don't fucking be a dick."

Again, Ryan looked to Marshall's ass and the hands that still lay there. "Sure 'bout that? Looks wrong to me."

"The fuck?" Nicolas was his fucking boyfriend! This was the most right thing they could possibly do, dance and flirt with each other. What the hell else was a couple supposed to do? _You ain't a couple, you're fuck buddies, fag, and you ain't fucking right now._ "And who's fucking fault is that, eh?" If he had a sex toy in his ass, his boyfriend would play with it. That was a goddamn law of nature.

"You two better don't disappear to my bedroom", Ryan warned them and his eyes were fixed on Nicolas again.

»Seems like that's already booked«, Nicolas signed back.

Ryan huffed angrily. "I don't play charades, man. Speak up or shut up."

"The fuck's wrong with you?" Hard Marshall shoved against Ryan's shoulder. He wouldn't stand for his boyfriend being treated like this. "Go play your fucking game, shitbag, we don't need you here."

"It's my fucking party", Ryan growled harsh, "And I don't like his attitude."

Marshall glared at his friend angrily. "I don't like yours either, you fucking see me having a fit about that?"

Before either of them could get another word out, Rufus butted in: "Uh, guys? It's alright." He leaned half on the backrest of the couch, as much as his large body allowed. "We don't mind, okay? Like, they can dance and shit. We knew this was coming, so …" A shrug concluded the sentence.

Oh shit! Marshall's stomach tightened. Anxiously he looked passed Ryan to the rest of his friends, who he had kinda forgotten were also here. How much had they overheard or seen? Denaun and Von were still mostly occupied with the game, but Rufus and Ondre looked over nosy about the situation.

"Yeah, no problem from us. Let's just have fun tonight, aight", Ondre agreed.

"No problem?", Marcus asked confused. "It's hella gay, don't ya think?" Disbelief and upset was written onto the young man's face. Being Ryan's brother they knew each other, but Marshall wouldn't describe them as friends and hadn't had any desire to come out to him. _Too late, homo._

Fucking shit! This was bad, so fucking bad. "And that's a problem fucking how?", he bit back snarling at the young man. He had not put his relationships to his family and best friends into jeopardy to now cower in front of some guy. He wasn't a kid anymore and he wasn't alone with this anymore. "I still rap ten times better than you, fucking-"

"Nah, it's okay", Ryan interrupted his cursing, "Marsh promised me, he'd behave tonight. We had a long phone call about that, ain't that right?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Marshall grounded his teeth. This was not how he wanted tonight or their bet to go. _If you got naked now, you could probably save this. Have 'em fuck you as compensation. Would also be way more of a party, tell you that much. _However, a bet was a debt of honor after all and so he muttered: "Fine, whatever. No dancing", and stepped back from Nicolas. Not being in reach to touch his boyfriend, the air around him felt cold all of a sudden.

A puzzled look on Nicolas's face, but Marshall could only answer with a shrug.

"Wanna play some darts to cool down?", Ryan suggested and nodded toward the dartboard hanging from the far wall.

Another shrug. "Sure, whatever." Marshall tugged at his pants, which couldn't hide how he was half hard, but this whole situation left him grumpy instead of excited. He was upset and embarrassed and everything felt wrong. Wasn't the first time he was fighting with Ryan and wouldn't be the last, but this was childish and unnecessary. Also, it wasn't the first time his friends saw him turned on but to have them think a bit of dancing was enough, that hurt his pride a bit. He couldn't really bring the sex toy to his defense, could he? _You can try, slut, just say: Sorry guys, I'm spicing up my sex life and ya'll part of it now. You can fuck me, too, I got a hole for everyone._ That wouldn't fly. Knowing someone was gay was one thing to accept, actually seeing gay stuff be done right in front of you was much harder to tolerate. Not an experiment he'd like to run.

Pleased with the answer, Ryan put an arm around Marshall's shoulders and pulled him over to the dartboard. "Let's just have fun, aight."

Looking back over his shoulder for a second, Marshall crossed eyes with Nicolas and his heart grew heavy. His boyfriend looked so lost standing there all left behind. If he'd known their night would be like this, he wouldn't have brought Nicolas with. Marshall's fist drew a circle across his chest. »I'm sorry.«

"Here, take 'em." Ryan handed him the darts. "You go first."

Marshall's heart wasn't in it, when he threw them onto the board and it showed. One dart didn't even make it into a point field at all, the rest not winning anything either. "Fuck this shit", he muttered to himself and pulled Ryan with him, away from the dartboard and up the stairs. They needed to talk.

"What the …", Ryan asked surprised but followed. "What're you up to?"

A few steps later they were at the alcove with the small bathroom. Marshall shoved his friend into the room and closed the door behind them. "I should ask you the same thing. What's fucking wrong with you tonight? This is bullshit, and you know it."

"I told you, I don't like him. He's bad for you", Ryan explained leaning against the sink and crossing his arms.

"He done nothing!", Marshall argued with frustration and exasperation. "He just sits there all by himself drinking a pop. How's that bad for anyone?" Guilty conscience was knocking. He shouldn't have brought Nicolas here to a party where he didn't know anyone. He shouldn't leave Nicolas by himself the whole goddamn time. "Leave him the fuck alone."

Ryan raised his hands defensively. "Jeez, glad you're all calm and collected."

"Fuck you", he snapped back. "When you pull shit like this, I don't fucking need to be calm and collected about nothing."

"You're his attack dog now, or what?" The frown on Ryan's face deepened. "Can't he defend himself? C'mon, man, don't you see? He makes you do all these things, but he doesn't do shit for you. He shouldn't be all over you in public like this and-"

"You put a fucking sex toy in me! How on earth is dancing worse than a fucking butt plug, you fuckwad." Ryan couldn't be serious!

Ryan reached his hand out to grab Marshall's sides and pulled him closer. "'Cause I know you, aight." A hand fondly stroked Marshall's cheeks. "I know you and I know the guys. I know when things go too far - but he doesn't. He doesn't know you and he certainly doesn't know us."

Marshall growled low. "He knows me well enough." Arguably too well, given recent events. He pushed the hand from his face. "I'm done with this fucking bet, if you're this much of an asshole about it."

"I'm just trying to look out for you", Ryan said concerned. "You're too easy, you know that, and I don't want you to get hurt, aight. That ain't nothing bad."

"I am easy", Marshall agreed and pushed his index finger into Ryan's muscular chest, "But that don't mean I'm your plaything. I ain't, got it?"

"Sure, if you say so." Ryan didn't even feign to sound believing.

He was having enough of this and Marshall offered: "How about, I blow you now and we call it quits."

Ryan shook his head. "I ain't done yet." The hand on Marshall's side pulling him closer, moved to his back and on his ass. A squeeze to the firm cheeks through the denim. Marshall bit his lips. "Besides, you love this. Just tell your boyfriend to behave and we're good. There's a lot of night left for us to enjoy." The squeeze pressed their bodies together even more.

Somewhere in there Ryan had a point that Marshall didn't want to admit to. _Just say it loud and proud, fag: I'm a perv!_ "What's your plan here anyway?" To make him crazy with some piece of plastic in his ass? Mission accomplished.

"You don't need to know." Ryan put his lips on Marshall's and kissed him deeply, capturing his tongue and not allowing him to breath. Their lips pressed hard against each other, a touch without he'd die. Tongues entwined like their bodies wanted to be.

Marshall put his arms around Ryan's shoulders, hugging him closely and holding on to him fiercely. The kiss was reigniting the heat to what it should be: arousal and excitement and pleasure.

Between their lips Ryan whispered: "How about, you blow me and the bet stays?"

"Okay", Marshall agreed with a low voice. Didn't sound too bad. _Anyone expecting less than a yes? You couldn't play coy to save your life. Easy ain't even a word for you anymore, slut._

Ryan's big hand settled on Marshall's shoulder and slowly pushed him down to his knees. The ink-black eyes followed the movement keenly, waiting. "Let's see, if you can suck me as good as your fingers."

Licking his lips in anticipation, Marshall held the gaze for a moment. Thrill jumped around his stomach when his knees hit the floor tiles. It always felt a little extra when a big, muscular guy towered over him. But he broke their eye contact to look at what was in front of him, Ryan's crotch still wrapped in denim. Marshall raised his hands to touch, slightly disappointed that this dick wasn't as hard as his. That was the story of his life, unfortunately. He opened the belt and the zipper.

"You really love this, don't you?", Ryan asked with a hint of honest curiosity.

Bashfully he bit his lower lip. Didn't his friend already know that Marshall was a weird person? He repeated over and over again, how well he knew Marshall, then he should know this without needing an answer. "So what?", he muttered softer than he should have.

"You know", Ryan started in a joking tone, "I got bananas in the kitchen. We can see, if you still get hard from them."

Maybe he shouldn't have told stories from his teenage years. Rather, Marshall focused on the task in hand and put light kisses on the dick, stroking it to life. There was much to be said about seeing a dick getting hard because of him. An honest reaction that he was doing things right, hitting the right spots with the right amount of pressure and with a look into Ryan's face, there was absolute certainty he evoked pleasure and delight. He was pretty and useful.

"But I guess, you're already hard, ain't ya." The voice just ever so slightly darker than usual, but as soft as the caresses to Marshall's head.

He huffed sarcastic in response, while he nibbled at the sides of the growing cock. He had a sex toy slow fucking him the whole night, what did Ryan think would happen? On top of that, he was about to have a dick in his mouth. If this didn't make him hard, he'd be dead. _You really wanna suck that reapers dick, don't ya bitch? _Well, he'd had some run-ins with death in the past, but it never really stuck for some reason. Sometimes this was a wonder to him, sometimes a curse. In moments like these when excitement and heat cursed through his veins, he enjoyed life sincerely.

"Come on, you want more", Ryan coaxed him. "You want me to fill you up. Gotta take it deep first."

Involuntarily, Marshall straightened his back and the movement shifted the toy inside him. A low moan escaped him. Another gaze upwards, meeting the ink-black eyes and a fire burned in them. He knew that fire to be Ryan's passion, he had seen it on stage so often. His tongue darted out and licked the tip, snuggling into the slit.

"Hmm …", a pressed exhale from above. "Get your naughty mouth on there."

Marshall did just that. The tip sank into his mouth, splitting his lips apart and sliding along his tongue deeper into him. The pleased moan vibrated his chest. Warm flesh filled his mouth as he sucked in, the pressure made the dick feel even bigger. His throat constricted already, anticipating what was to come.

"Ah, fuck yeah", Ryan groaned with pleasure, "This's so good."

A whoop sounded loudly through the corridor, their friend's voices muffled by the wood of the door and their steps sounded sharp on the stairs.

Immediately Marshall tensed and sat back, tried to at least. Ryan's hand caressing his head held him in place instead, pushing deeper. "C'mon, you love this."

But had they locked the door? Marshall hadn't, he knew, and Ryan couldn't have, right? Was someone coming upstairs to use the bathroom? The one they were currently in, where Marshall was on his knees with a dick in his mouth? A dick that wasn't his boyfriend's. Heat flushed his face and the tension in his body pulled at the toy. Another moan vibrated his chest. His throat constricted again as the dick pushed into him more, his thoughts rambled too much and he couldn't quite focus on his gag reflex. What if one of his friends came in while he was puking onto Ryan's dick?

"You okay?", Ryan asked and eased his grip.

Marshall sat back and a cough thwarted the deep breath he needed. A short nod and he wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes. "Yeah", he croaked, "Just … focus."

A laugh barked through the corridor.

Alarmed, Marshall looked up at the door, expecting someone to step in any minute. "Maybe we should-"

Ryan pressed his foot into Marshall's crotch and provoked a loud, sonant groan. "I think, we're doing exactly what we should be doing." His fingers caressed through Marshall's shortly cropped hair. "Go on, suck my dick."

The hard dick was standing right in front of his face, an inviting shine from his spit on it. Marshall inhaled deeply, partly to calm his nerves and partly to calm his throat. What a miserable way to end the year if he messed this up. One last moment of deep pleasure for the both of them would be much better. His fingers kneaded the hot flesh gently and a second later it disappeared into the cavern of his mouth again. The stretch on his jaw was comforting.

"Fuck's this good", Ryan's voice rumbled deeply, "Suck my dick and eat my cum."

A moan from Marshall's throat. Shouldn't Ryan be quieter with their friends running around outside? But the shiver down his spine told him, he'd miss the smooth voice talking dirty to him. He wanted more of that. With deliberate focus, he rolled his shoulders and relaxed his throat. The dick slid deeper into him, tongue flat against its underside.

"You really love to be full with my dick, don't you?" Ryan groaned when Marshall hollowed out his cheeks. "It's a shame I only have one. Come, wiggle your ass, let the toy dance."

Marshall held on to Ryan's hips tightly and he wiggled his ass as demanded. The toy jittered inside and his hole clenched greedily around it. Not enough. The moan was hardly muffled by the dick in his mouth, too loud and too vocal about his pleasure to not be heard. But he didn't care. Heat and lust ran through his bloodstream.

A short, sunny laugh. "I gonna fuck your ass, too, don't worry. But first, this." With that, he gripped Marshall's head tighter and pushed his dick deeper into the throat.

Softening his muscles, Marshall surrendered to his friend. Eyes closed, he focused on the feeling of the dick thrusting into him, filling out his throat so completely he couldn't breathe no more. But he trusted Ryan. Wet noises and dark grunts sounded through the small bathroom. Until a pulse drummed against his tongue and the splatter of cum hit the roof of his mouth. Ryan's cry of pleasure echoed through his body, his core fluttered in delight as Marshall swallowed. His own whimper choked on the cum.

A little sad, the dick had to leave his mouth but he knew it was for the better. Rapid breaths and slight coughs brought his throat back in order, saliva and sperm mixing on his tongue. It been too long since last he had cum dripping down his throat. It was too good to miss.


	54. But It's Time To Exorcise These Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve - Part 2.  
When Nicolas finds out about the blowjob, Marshall's afraid he ruined their relationship again. And then he's afraid he ruined his friendships with the rest of the guys. A long talk outside might be able to comfort some of his fears.

"Marshall?", Ryan asked and petted softly through short hair.

He raised his eyes, a small smile on his lips. "Hm?", a thin hum. The hand softly stroking his head felt nice, loving even. Like a compliment for a job well done, which was true 'cause sometimes he was pretty and useful. A little meaning his life did have after all.

Ryan squatted down and kissed him briefly on the lips. Only a soft touch. "You're one of a kind, you know that?"

The smile grew a little shy. "Thanks?", and his voice cracked.

"C'mere, let me help you with this." Ryan opened Marshall's pants unceremoniously and freed the hard, leaking dick from its denim cage.

A relived sigh from Marshall that turned into a moan as big hands kneaded the hot flesh. His arms stretched out and around the broad shoulders, holding on to Ryan while he brought pleasure to Marshall's dick. Moaning and panting, the small thrusts of his hips jerked the toy in his ass. He came with a groan all over Ryan's hands. But he didn't let go of his friend just yet. A moment he wanted to enjoy this, the feeling of quiet and content, the fuzzy aftermath of a high when nothing else mattered but his own heartbeat.

Dull clamor of something falling in the house. Voices in hot murmur.

A kiss to Marshall's cheek. "We should get back." Ryan stood up but held on to Marshall's arms helping him up.

A pained groan as his legs unfolded from beneath him. "Fuck", Marshall muttered. Knees complaining, muscles prickling, bones hurting. Though, the toy twitched as delighted as ever.

"You okay, old man?", and Ryan chuckled at his own joke. He turned to the sink and washed Marshall's jizz from his hands.

"Fuck you." Marshall sank down on the closed toiled seat and stretched his legs out. "I'm not old. And we're the same age anyway." The tiles were fucking hard and his knees were already a little broken, that was the problem.

Ryan grinned at him. "You're five years older than me, that can mean a lot."

Marshall huffed and flipped him the middle finger. With the back of a hand he swept over his mouth, tears and spit and wayward drops of cum caught at the corners. He got off from the toilet seat and stalked the couple steps over to the sink, washing his own hands and face. The soap smelled like vanilla and he crinkled his nose. Marshall didn't like that. As he looked up, an embarrassing image greeted him: His usually light eyes dark from arousal, his face flush in a rosy color and his lips all red and swollen. Even though what dripped from the point of his nose was water, it was easy to envision something else. Marshall sighed deeply.

"You look good", Ryan offered. Easy for his friend to say, who didn't show anything from just now. Ink-black eyes filled with amusement, a grin on his lips and his clothes orderly again. Nothing told of their little intermezzo.

"Save it", he grumbled. Marshall dried his face, dreading to go outside to their friends. He needed a minute or two for his body to calm down, but they probably had been away long enough, suspiciously long. He closed his pants again, not even asking about the toy. Ryan wouldn't let him remove it anyway, he was sure. _You don't want it removed. At least not, without a dick replacing it, slut_. Marshall sighed once more. Didn't it usually take longer for it to come back? _Not when you're playing sex games in public, little gay looking boy. Ain't gonna miss that! _Fair.

Ryan opened the door and stepped outside. Now clearer to hear, their friends' voices came from the kitchen, so that was their direction to go. The smell of fried meat was in the air. When they entered the kitchen, both where surprised to see all of their friends up here. Sausages were sizzling in a pan and on the counter the makings for hot dogs were strewn around and their friends were lightheartedly squabbling over them, each assembling their own meal.

"You made some for us, too?", Ryan asked, announcing their return.

There was a general raising of heads, but mostly the food was more important. Only Nicolas answered with a gesture to his own plate, where he was preparing two hot dogs and a smile colored the corner of his mouth - a smile Marshall reciprocated as he walked over.

"Where you been? Ya'll good again?" Ondre was a person who liked to know things.

Ryan tried to wave the question aside dismissively, but he was interrupted by another question.

"You two already disappeared to your bedroom?", Nicolas asked with his dark voice, eyes steeled on Ryan.

Marshall's heart stopped a beat and heat flushed his face. His body stopped mid-step almost at his boyfriend's side. Of course Nicolas recognized the signs, he'd seen Marshall post-blowjob a few times by now and knew exactly what this gaze and these lips meant. Fuck. "We were just-"

"What's it to you?", Ryan talked over, returning the look indignant.

"He's my boyfriend, I should kinda know if he shot off his load already", Nicolas responded coldly.

Now definitely all their friends looked up, gazes drifting between Ryan and Nicolas, and Marshall felt like their eyes were burning through his skin. They all knew what this kind of face meant, they all had had groupies sucking off their dicks before. Involuntarily, he wiped over his mouth again, the memory of spit and cum was etched into his skin.

"Boyfriend?", Marcus asked with surprise and disgust. "What the hell's going on?"

"Nothing's fucking going on", Ryan snarled back. "We just talked. Can't two people fucking talk anymore?"

The toy stabbed Marshall's insides. Were his jeans actually disguising it? It had to be fucking obvious! It just had to with how big and heavy it felt in this moment. His friends couldn't be okay with this, him doing gay stuff right in front of them. This was too fucking much!

"You talk plenty, don't worry", Denaun said.

"What does that mean?", Ryan asked annoyed.

Denaun rolled his eyes. "Don't take us for fools. You two always act like you're glued together or some shit."

"No, we ain't", Ryan denied loudly, clearly he took offense to the observation. "You wanna pick this up again? We're just friends, that's fucking all."

"Fine, be _just friends_", Denaun mimicked Ryan's tone of voice with a sarcastic underpinning, "That worked out so well last time."

Ryan huffed angry. "That has shit to do with now. Friends fight sometimes, asshole."

"No reason to dig up old shit", Marshall intervened, standing in the middle of the kitchen he felt exposed. This was so fucking wrong, all of this was. He should never had made this bet. _Bitch, you love this bet, the phone sex, the blowjob, the toy. You can hardly wait for him to fuck your ass as promised_. Perhaps it'd been better if he never squashed the beef with Ryan in the first place. How was he so dumb to think, they could be just friends? They've never been just friends. _That's on you, fag. You have to fuck everyone that'll have you, Ryan's only dumb enough to stick around for too long_. "Let's eat some hot dogs and-"

"You're a faggot?", Marcus asked and stared with wide eyes at his big brother. His face fell apart as did his worldview.

"Fuck no! What's wrong with you?", Ryan snapped back and nodded at Marshall, "He's the fag, not me. This is fuckin-"

"Hey!", Nicolas shouted enraged and grabbed for a bread knife. "Don't you fucking dare!"

The storm was here. It taken long enough, but finally things broke apart as they should. Marshall's whole body was shaken by cold tremors. He wanted to scream and to cry and to punch something bloody, he needed to howl and to whine and to tear his limbs apart. He should disappear. He shouldn't have been.

"You!", Ryan pointed at Nicolas threatening, "You need to get your ass out of my fucking house. Now!"

Nicolas stepped forward and his hand grabbed for Marshall's arm, the other held on to the knife. His matte black eyes focused on Ryan, ire and determination overflowing. "You will suffer."

As his boyfriend pulled him toward the door, Marshall stumbled along. His body numb and his brain refusing to understand, but his heart knew. He had lost. Once more, Marshall had scared away the people he loved. When would he change?

"Whoa, guys!" Rufus stepped forward, hands held up to pacify. "We all agreed that it's fine, aight. Queer or not, Marshall's Marshall, no reason to fight."

"He made my brother fucking gay, this shit ain't fine!"

Ryan threw his hands up in exasperation. "The fuck he didn't! I ain't gay, goddammit! We’re just friends, nothing more."

"See", Rufus agreed, trying to calm everybody's nerves. "Even if he got you this time, don't mean shit. That's just the way they are, they jump everything with a dick. And Marshall's stubborn, that ain't on you."

"This is fucking ridiculous. No one got jumped here …"

But his friends' voices melted into a blob of noise the further Nicolas pulled him away from the kitchen. Honestly, Marshall didn't want to hear one more word. He had lost, didn't matter by how much. His jaw clenched hard, because crying never achieved anything. The outside air cooled his face, its clarity harbinger to all the fresh beginnings this evening brought - and Marshall wouldn't seize.

Nicolas closed the front door behind them and handed him a coat. The look on his haggard face serious. »He's an asshole.« True and meaningless.

With a heavy body, Marshall sank down on the steps in front of the house. He buried his face in his hands, pressing the palms into his eye sockets. He shouldn't have come out the bathroom too early. He shouldn't have agreed to the bet. He shouldn't have outed himself to his friends. He shouldn't have been this way.

Rough fingertips touched his wrist and soft pressure to lower his arm. Nicolas sat next to him.

"All I do is mistakes", Marshall confessed quietly.

»Everyone does«, Nicolas agreed.

Marshall shook his head. "Not like this. I don't learn. I'd do it all over again given the chance." Even though he had ruined tonight, the toy still was inside him and the strain on his jaw lingered on, felt good.

»So would everyone«, Nicolas agreed again.

"But I hurt people", Marshall insisted. It didn't matter who he met or how much he loved that person, he'd always end up hurting them. But he didn't learn. He kept doing the same mistakes over and over and over again. He shouldn't be here and suck Ryan's dick, yet he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

There was a dark quiet on Nicolas's face. »They hurt you just as much."

Marshall closed his eyes for a moment, so he wouldn't see how his vision blurred. Rough he wiped at the corner of his eyes. "I don't matter."

»Yes, you do«, Nicolas signed with emphasis. »You matter to me. And you matter to them", a short gesture toward the house, toward Marshall's friends.

"But I hurt you." Just taking Nicolas to this party, into the house of the man Marshall had cheated with … He was sabotaging their relationship, wasn't he? This wasn't an accident, nothing about this was.

The black eyes that almost melted with the shadows underneath darted gingerly over Marshall's face. »Don't you mean to say: 'I'm hurt'?"

Again, Marshall wiped at the corner of his eyes, but there wasn't relief. "I'm used to it", words so faint they were barely audible.

But Nicolas didn't need to hear. »That doesn't make it go away.«

If only it was this easy. Nothing in Marshall's life had come easy, usually by his own making. As long as his family was save.

»Don't bottle it up«, Nicolas asked.

"That's the best thing to do", Marshall muttered. Who wanted to hear him whine? Even putting it into a rhyme didn't always sell. Critics mocked him for the constant complaining in his songs and for trying to write uplifting messages. Was he the only one who needed to hear that there was a silver lining somewhere?

»No, it's not. That only makes you dead inside. You're not a cold person and you don't have to pretend like you are. Your heart is beautiful, don't let it die.«

Marshall shook his head. "Nothin' about me is beautiful."

»Be proud of who you are. Never let anyone tell you you ain't beautiful«, Nicolas signed. »Take your own advice. Being who you are includes being hurt when life's shit.«

"I ain't", he muttered and wiped away the tears that were falling unwanted. "And whining doesn't do shit. Crying's weak." He was too weak, but he needed to be strong.

Nicolas shook his head lightly. »It's not weak. Your friends don't understand you, that's a perfectly good reason to cry.«

"They mean well", Marshall defended, "I think."

»I'm sure they do«, Nicolas agreed, »But that doesn't mean they're infallible. Humans make mistakes all the time.« The matte black eyes looked at him thoughtful. »Like me. I shouldn't have made that jab. I don't like Ryan and I wanted to put him in his place … But I forgot about you. This isn't easy for you. Sometimes the thrill of a fight isn't worth the consequences.«

Marshall shook his head. "Don't be so hard on yourself. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have brought you here and I shouldn't have ... done that thing." Regardless how good sucking Ryan's dick had been, was it worth hurting his friends and his boyfriend over? _Yes, slut, it always is_.

»Not everything is on you«, Nicolas disagreed. »I'm responsible for my own actions. And so are they. You don't decide for us, so you can't bear the blame.«

"But", Marshall objected, "I … I am like this." His hands gestured to all of him, his whole body, his whole being.

Nicolas simply nodded.

"I'm wrong", Marshall explained further. Nicolas didn't seem to understand, he had to make his boyfriend understand. "I'm wrong. Ugly and useless and a nobody. Why won't you see that? I'm a waste of life and you shouldn't pour any more energy into me."

»Because you aren't«, Nicolas answered, plain but honest. »All I see is a human, who fights hard to stay alive. You're so strong.«

Again, Marshall shook his head. There was just something about Nicolas's words that felt wrong. "I'm dragging everybody with me." He couldn't let go.

»They follow you because-«

"See!", Marshall interrupted his boyfriend.

Nicolas cocked his head. »That's not a bad thing. I follow you and I haven't regretted one second."

How could he say that? "I'm hurting you right fucking now!" Nicolas had to know, what Marshall had done tonight. He had to. Regret was the only response.

»You're hurting yourself.«

Words, that shut Marshall's mouth close. His teeth pressed against each other hard and fingers dug into jeans covered knees. The exhale was shaky and pressed. His hands formed fists, trapping denim. More tears blurred his vision. It was night, there was nothing to see anyway. As it didn't matter what he did in his life, he wouldn't change. His life had taken so many turns throughout the years, had surprised him so often and yet, the pain remained the same. When his life was bad no matter the zeros in his bank account, no matter the people around him, no matter which stage he stood on … Then it was all him and only him.

Softly fingertips touched the side of his head, brushing against the shortly cropped hair. It almost felt timid, not a word that fit Nicolas.

Marshall looked to his boyfriend. "How can you be this way?"

Puzzled eyes looking back.

"You … You're different. You truly don't give a fuck." Not about who he was, that he was mean and distant and how cold he acted toward people. Not about the violence he lived. Not about being deaf. Not about being gay. "I only pretend." Marshall shouted that line from stages all around the world and in some ways he meant it, but he gave a lot of fucks about his art and how people perceived it, about the people in his life and what an impact he had on them, about being good enough.

A mirthless smile. »I don't have anybody to give a fuck about. It's easy to be different when you're alone.«

"You're not alone, you have friends." None that Marshall had met in any substantial way yet, but that didn't invalidate their existence.

»Not like yours.« Nicolas rubbed Marshall's neck gently for a moment. »How I live, you can't trust anybody. Everyone has a price. Some people are cheap, some are expensive, but everybody has a price to go behind your back. But you and your friends, you are family - a real one - and you love each other. That's why they matter.«

Marshall frowned. "You don't love your friends?"

A shrug was supposed to display indifference, but the lines around Nicolas's face were tense. »Does that matter? I killed for him and I would've died for him - but he hates me for it. I don't think that's applicable here.«

"No", Marshall agreed with a low voice. He reached his hand out to softly stroke his boyfriend's cheek. "Sometimes I forget your life is more horrible than mine." Which shouldn't be possible, if he was asked. There had to be a limit to suffering, but he knew there wasn't.

Nicolas's hand lay on Marshall's, the other signing: »Then don't let your life become like mine. Don't be like me. Stay true to yourself, even when it hurts.«

Marshall closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his own heartbeat. A sad melody. "It hurts", he confessed. Not only tonight, which was an example of many. He did things wrong on so many days, counting them made no sense. Not just for Nicolas or for Ryan, but he let everybody down.

A deep sigh. He let himself down. Knowing what he should do, but somehow unable to do it. Knowing what he shouldn't do, but somehow unable to stop it. Believing words, that were only said to hurt him. Doubting words, that saw him in a good light. He was his own worst enemy and even though he thought therapy had made things better in the last two years, he was still broken.

»Only if you know about a wound, can you care for it properly.« Nicolas leaned forward and softly kissed Marshall's cheek.

"I think it festered", Marshall muttered.

»That's just what you do.« A teasing smirk.

He pushed his elbow into Nicolas's ribs, but smiled lightly. It was, wasn't it? Wallowing in self-pity too much instead of actively doing something - anything to improve the situation. Easier to stay where he was than to seek out a new self. Better to hate on himself than to learn who he really was.

Nicolas's fingers twitched hesitantly for a second as they started signing again. »Are you in love with Ryan?«

The beat of his heart felt like thunder. Instinctively, vehemently Marshall shook his head. He was with Nicolas, he wanted to be with Nicolas, but looking at his actions this was hard to believe.

»That would make his words hurt more, wouldn't it?«, Nicolas signed on, disregarding what a positive answer would mean for their relationship.

His arms wrapped around himself holding on tightly and the thick winter jacket acted as a shield from his own embrace. Marshall felt more alone. "It been a long time ago."

»Time doesn't mean shit.«

A tired chuckle. "Ain't that the truth." Events from many years past felt as new and pressing and important as if they'd happened yesterday. Events from only a few days ago felt distant and irrelevant and were easily forgotten. Time was a bitch.

But so was love. "I think I was."

A soft nod, Nicolas cocked his head. »What happened?«

Marshall sighed. "I'm a bad boyfriend and he broke up with me." What did he think had happened? As if the Marshall of the past had acted any smarter or righter than the Marshall of the present. If anything, even less so. "It was a mean break up. Well, it was a mean relationship, so, fitting I guess. Like, we fucked a lot, sure, but we also fought a lot." Like all his relationships. He was a difficult person to get along with and the closeness of romance meant he shouldn't be. He wanted to make it easy for his partner, but he didn't know how. He could only be himself, but that was never asked for. "It just felt like, I don't know, like we could've been more, if only …" If only he could be faithful to the person he loved.

»He's a jealous person, isn't he«, Nicolas asked to prompt more of the story.

"Yeah, very", Marshall answered, "I don't deal well with that. I mean, I'm a bit - well, more than a bit jealous myself, so that ain't a good combination. And we both had wives back then, so …" Marshall interrupted himself and shook his head. There was one simple truth here: "We both suck at relationships."

»Monogamy isn't everything«, Nicolas reiterated.

But Marshall shook his head again. "That wouldn't have mattered. He always resented me for not being a girl." Which wasn't fair. He couldn't change who he'd been born as, nor did he want to change what he seemed like. As hard as it was and as much as he wished life be different sometimes, he was a gay man. Would it been easier as a girl? Of course, but that didn't mean he was. It would've been the easiest, if he could've been straight, but he wasn't that either.

»Huh, so that's where it comes from?«, Nicolas signed surprised. »Good to know.«

Marshall frowned. "What?"

»The whole 'I should've been a girl'-thing that you have going on«, Nicolas explained. »Don't get me wrong, you're gorgeous in a dress and you can do that whenever you want, I'm totally down. But I don't really get your confusion on this. You're very clearly a man to me.« A helpless shrug.

"That's not-" Marshall wiped his hands over his face growing exhausted. "I'm not confused", he started again, "I'm a man and I'm gay, I found that out pretty early. I just … I rather be a girl than straight, I guess, but I can't be either and I got a lot of shit for that." He gestured toward the house, toward his friends. "That's about the nicest these things usually go for me. They mean well, they just say crap, whatever, and I'm the same, I know that … Like, he broke up with me because I made him gay and he hated that. That's what he said at least." Marshall shrugged.

Nicolas scrunched up his nose. »Ouch.«

"Yup."

»He's a fool«, Nicolas signed with conviction.

Marshall huffed amused. "Pretty much. I mean, he ain't wrong, being gay sucks ass."

Suggestively, Nicolas wiggled his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean." Marshall bumped their shoulders together and smirked.

»Being gay is fun. People suck«, Nicolas explained. »You know, I understand that there are laws how you shouldn't steal from people and you shouldn't murder them and shit like that. I don't care for it, but I understand. You can't have people destroying each other's lives, if you want a society. But why there are laws about people having sex how they want, I can't understand. Feels more destructive.«

Marshall said in a mocking tone: "Think about the children."

Nicolas waved the joke aside. Clearly, this wasn't a valid enough excuse for him.

"I don't know", Marshall said more serious, shoulders slouching. "They make you feel like the devil or something, like you're a bad person by existing and … Like, what he said, I can still hear him shouting how I was luring him into a trap … how I was ruining his life … I don't want to hurt people." But he did. How could he be a good person, when he brought pain to the people he loved? "So, sometimes I wish I'd been born a girl, then this wouldn't be so bad."

Softly Nicolas petted Marshall's head, a touch of understanding and solidarity.

"Y'know, the sex was pretty great", Marshall shrugged, "Still is and so I stayed. I always stay too long." He shouldn't have tried so long to keep it a secret. Secrets always come out eventually and always too soon. But the temptations had been too strong and he too weak against them, sex always made him weak. So he had tried to be gay for too long, ignoring that he shouldn't be and that his life had no place for this. That this world had no place for him.

»He's important to you«, Nicolas signed with one hand, so he could keep gently stroking Marshall's neck.

Marshall leaned in to his boyfriend and whispered, "I thought we could be more, if only …" If only he could be stronger for the person he loved.

»If only - what?«

He shook his head. "If only … " If only Marshall could be somebody else, somebody who could be loved back. "If only he could've seen me as a person."

A kiss to his cheek. »That's his loss.«

"Doesn't matter. No one sees me as a person and I get it, I do, just … Once I'd like to be more." But he wasn't. That was his burden to bear.

»You are«, Nicolas signed insistent. »You're so many things and you're all of them with so much passion.« A light kiss to his lips. »Believe in yourself, you're worth it.«

But Marshall couldn't believe. He saw the sincerity in the black emptiness of Nicolas's eyes, the seriousness in the lines of his stoic face. But he just couldn't believe.

»What happened?«, a sign so soft a puff of air could carry it away.

"I hurt people", a voice barely audible in the night.

»How?«

"I drag them down with me."

»To where?«

Marshall shook his head. He swallowed hard but the lump in his throat stayed. "I don't want to hurt people. I don't wanna hurt you."

»I'm a fighter, one more scar I won't even notice.« His hand was again fondly caressing Marshall's neck.

A sad smile colored his lips. "You deserve better."

»Believe me, I really don't.« The smirk was just as sad.

"I almost killed a man", and his voice gave out, only the movement of his lips portrayed the words he didn't want to say.

Nicolas's hand pressed warm into the shortly cropped hair. »Tell me about it.«

Marshall shook his head. A night he had banished from his memories and that needed to die in silence until he'd forgotten the last second of it. But he knew, he'd never truly forget. The same way, he hadn't forgotten who he was despite trying so hard. "I-I don't handle break-ups well and … so when Ryan said what he said, I - Sometimes sex is all I can think about, like, literally it's the only thing on my mind … I don't know, it's just this, this hunger and I can't - I don't care who I fuck or how or anything and when Ryan said what he said, I was so hurt and sad and angry and this, this thing took so long. Too long. Too desperate." He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, but that didn't save him from the memory of a night that shouldn't never have happened. "All I wanted was a dick inside me a-and I found a guy for it and we went into this back alley and I just needed - I couldn't wait. He had a car half a block away, but that was too long. An alley was good enough, had been good enough a dozen times before. Just fuck me hard, I don't need it fancy. But some guys showed up, why ever, and I … and I told them to join in. The more the better - I know that's bullshit, but I wanted more - I needed more, so my mouth ran off in the wrong direction like always, should've obviously been stuffed with a dick." His cheeks were starting to get wet, he felt it seep underneath his palms. "But they didn't take that well. Homophobic pricks. A hole is a hole, for fuck's … They beat us up, of course they did. Six against two, what you expect? What was I supposed to do? I couldn't win that … But it wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last, I told myself. Just don't get it against the head, I told myself. It's gonna be over soon … But I should've fought harder, I should've protected him, I should've shut my mouth. Fuck, I should've been at home with my daughter and my fucking wife. But no, I need dicks inside me so bad I end up bloody in an alley."

Nicolas pulled him closer, arms wrapped tightly around Marshall. "It's not your fault. You hear me? It's not your fault." The voice was dark and strong. The vowels spoken just a little too long were like a sharp sword ready to defend him, the consonants spoken just a little too soft were like a warm blanket to comfort him. "They would've found any excuse to beat you up. That's not on you."

"He almost died!" Tears constricted his throat. "He almost died because of me. Of course that's on me! I lured him there to fuck and that ruined his life. I was too impatient, I couldn't wait, not even half a fucking block. I should've waited until his fucking car, but I didn't. I needed a dick so bad, I … And I told them to join in. Me! He didn't want that, of course not. That's crazy. But I asked anyway. I wanted more - I needed more. I always need too much. It's never enough … I should've fought for him, but I didn't. I didn't protect him. To me, it was just one of those nights, you know … Some guys beating me up, that wouldn't stop me. Hadn't before, I just wipe the blood off my nose and find another dick to fuck. I always do. I-"

"It's not your fault", Nicolas repeated. "You having your ass out, does not give anyone the right to beat you up. They had no right to beat you up and their only reason is hatred. That is not on you."

Marshall wiped the tears away, but his cheeks kept getting wet. "I should've protected him. I got him into that mess, I should've gotten him out of it. But I didn't. And he almost died."

"It wasn't your fault", Nicolas repeated with steady conviction.

"Yes, it fucking was!", Marshall shouted, his voice high and shaky.

"No, it wasn't", Nicolas kept repeating, still holding him close and tight. "He was a victim of senseless violence - and so were you. They chose to beat you up without any reason. That is not on you. You're not to blame." His hands softly stroked Marshall's back. "You deserve compassion, especially from yourself. You could've died, too."

Marshall shook his head. "Would've been better."

"I think, the world would be a darker place without you."

Lowering his hands, he looked at his boyfriend. Could he really think that? Or was he just saying it so Marshall stopped crying? It would be nice, if he really felt like that.

"I'm glad I met you", Nicolas added.

"Why?", his voice was raspy. "I don't do anything for you. All I do is hurt you."

A warm smile on the thin lips. "Because you're good for me. With you, life isn't dull anymore."

Hadn't Nicolas said that before?

"Kitten?" Rough fingertips stroked over Marshall's wet cheek. "Don't ignore your pain, don't become like me. You're stronger when your heart is beating."

Deeply Marshall sighed. "I don't even know where to start."

"You already did", Nicolas said as encouragement, a fleeting smile across his thin lips. "Keep going. Maybe it hurts more before it gets better, but … I'm here."

In spite of everything, Marshall leaned closer to his boyfriend and kissed the thin lips gingerly. "You're too nice to me", he whispered with a sad smile.

"I like your smile more than your tears", and a thumb lingered on Marshall's bottom lip. Nicolas leaned in to kiss, lips touching softly, caressing each other with tiny movements and pressing against each other in warm togetherness.

Marshall rested his forehead against his boyfriend's, enjoying his presence. He was too nice to him, but Marshall was starting to like that. It had soothing qualities he actually appreciated, his past self wouldn't but he wasn't that person anymore. Not only wanted he to be a better person, but he wanted a better life. A life without this pain and anger and misery. Marshall sighed. "So much for a fun New Year's", as he had promised when inviting Nicolas. This night hadn't been much fun, even less so for Nicolas.

»Do you want to go back inside?«, Nicolas asked. »There's still a hot dog for you waiting. I think.«

Did he want to? Marshall looked at the door standing shut firmly. Of course he wanted to spend time with his friends, not just because it was New Year's but because that was always time well spent. However, the thought of facing them now had his stomach tighten nervously. What if they actually didn't mean well, but hated him now? Maybe they didn't want to see his boyfriend all the time, a reminder of the fact someone who they thought was a friend was gay. Made worse by the stunt Ryan and he had pulled, the sexual encounter so obviously displayed on Marshall's face and not something they could bear to see. And Marcus! He clearly had a problem with it and they had never been close enough for the young man to feign tolerance.

»Come, let's at least get the hot dogs«, Nicolas suggested and stood up. He grabbed Marshall's arm and helped him up.

"But don't ring", Marshall half heartedly agreed. Then he bit his lips. His body rising had the toy wiggling again, announcing its presence urgently.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows as he noticed the little movement, but his face quickly morphed into a knowing smirk. »You're such a perv.«

The blush was not intentional. "Am not", Marshall muttered.

But Nicolas's hand wandered from his arm down his body, down to Marshall's ass and squeezed it, feeling for the flared base as proof of the suspicion. A soft nib to Marshall's ear.

Fine, maybe he was. "Hot dogs?", Marshall suggested. His hands wiped over his hot cheeks, drying off the tears.

»No doorbell?«, Nicolas affirmed his wish skeptical. His gaze examined the front of the house, a moment later he climbed on top of the balustrade encircling the veranda. Body stretched he jumped upward and without much effort landed on the balcony above. »Wait a second«, he signed down to Marshall and then disappeared into the house.

"What the …?" Marshall stared at the balcony with confused surprise. Had his boyfriend just broken into his friend's house? Holy shit. _There's your bad boy, bitch. Have him break into your ass as he breaks into houses. _Agreed, that move was damn sexy.

The front door opened. With a grin Nicolas signed: »Ice Princess, it is my pleasure«, and bowed welcoming.

Marshall couldn't help the amused smile.

The kitchen was empty, only the makings for the hot dogs lay around the counter open and half used, the frying pan was cold by now. The friends had gone back in the basement enjoying their evening. At least Marshall hadn't totally ruined that.

The noise of skin flapping against skin. Nicolas was cursing into the empty kitchen, standing where he had prepared their meal before. Their hot dogs weren't there anymore.

Marshall smirked, a faint feeling of relief. That's exactly what he expected from his friends and gave him hope that change wouldn't be too harsh. »Looks like they got away.«

»Well, I'll get them back«, Nicolas answered.

»Sure«, Marshall agreed jokingly, »How about we just make new ones?« So, he stepped to the stove, turned it on again and heated them two hot dogs. As much as he found the gesture endearing, Nicolas couldn't cook for shit and Marshall expected that to stay true for hot dogs as well. However you could ruin them to be inedible, Nicolas would find a way.

While Marshall prepared the buns, his boyfriend's arms snaked around his waist and the chin found a bed on his shoulder. To sense the warm body behind him wasn't just nice, but solaceful and grounding. This night could still be good. Fleeting kisses were sprinkled on his skin and Marshall craned his neck a little to give over more space. As too nice as Nicolas often was to him, he soaked up all these tender touches like a sponge.

The arms around Marshall's waist hugged close, the hands all strong and loving held on tight, the fingertips caressed lightly through white fabric. The lips on Marshall's neck pressed softly against the skin and mouthed kisses wherever they could touch, sucking on the tender skin beneath the jaw. The muscular chest and body pushed against Marshall's, trying to be close, even too close but that didn't exist.

"Hmm …", a sound of pleasure hopped off Marshall's lips. His own hands rested on the counter deciding food could wait. He leaned back against his boyfriend, eyes closed and mind focused on the gentle touches. Affection beat in his heart.

"Kitten", the dark, husky voice said, "I want to be with you." A last spoken comfort that Marshall was indeed pretty and useful and a someone, to Nicolas he was. His boyfriend found him worthwhile.

An electric tingle rushed from his ear down Marshall's body, his blood prickled with these words. His heart swole. Turning his head, he kissed his boyfriend. All his affections, all of the soft feelings inside him Marshall put on his lips and tongue, wanting for Nicolas to know them, needing for him to understand. He wanted this man and not just for sex, but it was the only love language he knew. He turned his whole body around, hugging his boyfriend back and pressing just as tightly against the strong body.

Nicolas's hands travelled across the back and rough fingertips found their way beneath the t-shirt, stroking Marshall's skin and heat trailing after them. The kiss he responded to passionately, thin lips eager to press and push against Marshall's, a tongue eager to taste and dance. Their bodies eager to melt into each other. But the hands knew of a better place to be and grabbed the firm ass cheeks, squeezed them with relish and kneaded the flesh through the denim jeans. Thin lips caught Marshall's moaning. Reaching further, a finger tipped against the flared base of the toy hidden beneath clothes and Marshall's whole body shuddered.

"Ahh … Nic …", Marshall gasped and the swell of his heart was pinched by his ribs. His boyfriend! His palms cupped Nicolas's face, pulling him in even closer and his lips kissed desperately because they had no words to say.

Using his grip on this fine ass as leverage, Nicolas heaved him up on the counter, a quick swipe with the back of his hand cleared space for Marshall to sit. Another vibrating moan as the thrust of the movement was amplified by the toy. Legs weaved around Nicolas. Marshall's hands badly needed to feel warm, scarred skin and reached down the shirt collar. Their breaths mingled, lips never letting go of one another. A belt clattered, again Marshall's belt as his pants were opened one more time tonight. Rough fingers stroking the growing erection through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Marshall groaned breathless, a jerk from his hips and a jerk from the toy. Needing to feel more, erratic hands pulled the gray shirt out of the pants it been tugged in and rushed under. But he needed to feel more, his hands ached to feel the scars underneath them, his fingertips burned to feel the heat radiating from Nicolas's skin. This wasn't enough. He needed more. Urge stabbing his muscles, Marshall ripped the shirt open. A dull ping as buttons bounced to the ground.

"Aah!", a high-pitched yell and Nicolas flinched back. Instinctively, one arm raised high and eyes opened wide.

"Woah!", Marshall flinched back the same, staring at his boyfriend with big eyes and his heart beat fast. Hands froze mid-air and helpless.

»My buttons!«, a quick succession of signs. Surprise and shock were written on the usually stoic face.

Marshall blinked, trying to understand. Buttons? His head needed a moment to fully load, then he started to chuckle and giggle. A laugh shook his body. "Your buttons", he exclaimed between laughter, shaking his head and tears started to collect in the corners of his eyes. This was the silliest thing!

»Yeah, my buttons.« Nicolas's bewilderment and confusion turned into grumpiness. The face back to its stoic outlook. He wasn't thrilled being laughed at. For a second, he looked around for the buttons, but only the half made hot dogs were easily seen. A hand raked through his spiky black hair and quietly he started laughing himself, joined in the silliness of the situation and laughter was the best response.

Their joined voices filled the room with mirth and hilarity, their bodies curled into each other still being close and this moment shared between them was just as much being together as the passion before. It was their moment, a silly one but theirs alone.

Softly Marshall placed a kiss on his boyfriend's forehead, quietly snickering. "Your buttons, hm, must be precious." He wiped laughing tears from his eyes.

»You owe me new ones«, Nicolas responded with his typical teasing smirk.

"I'ma sow them on myself", Marshall promised and looked around. Another chuckle as his eyes caught one of the buttons. It sat in the pan sizzling with the sausages. "Well, those are very well done, I guess." He stretched over and pulled the pan from the hot plate and the sausages rolled around, revealing their black underside.

Frowning his eyebrows as he studied the food, Nicolas concluded: »That's still perfectly edible." His serious face did not betray whether this was meant serious or as a joke.

"So", Marshall stretched the vowel and shrugged, "The food's already ruined … What now?" His hands, finally having free access, touched and stroked and caressed the muscular chest and the warm, scarred skin. His legs were still wrapped around his boyfriend's hips.

The teasing smirk grew into a knowing smile. Nicolas's fingers lay on him again, responding with the same touches and caresses across Marshall's abdomen. He leaned up for a kiss.

"What the hell is this!" Ryan's angry voice boomed in the kitchen.

Marshall flinched again, alarmed he looked up and a quick rush of guilt flushed his body. After all, Ryan had claimed him for tonight already and this was Ryan's kitchen … but it faded away just as fast. Nicolas was his boyfriend, that trumped everything.

"I'm jumping my fag boyfriend, what’s it look like?", Nicolas answered and the threat was clear on his face. But his hands stayed on Marshall's body warm, reassuring and caring. The meaning clear: He wanted to put Ryan in his place, not hurt Marshall.

Was it just about Ryan's misplaced jealousy and the misdirected aggression? Or did he care more about Marshall fucking around than Nicolas was admitting? In the end, he wanted Marshall all for himself just as much as Ryan. Perhaps, Marshall had judged too early and this in fact was a cheesy soap opera, one with a lame love triangle.

"How did you get in here? Didn't you fucking leave", Ryan spit out. More commotion in the hall behind him.

"Door", Nicolas answered, his absorbing black eyes fixated on the other man.

From the hall his other friends rushed in, Denaun and Rufus quick to take up space between the two rivals, arms held up in pacifying gestures. "Yo, guys, calm down", Rufus asked, "It's all good here."

Marshall jumped from the counter and quickly closed his pants again. Heartbeat ran wild against his ribs and embarrassment colored his cheeks once more. "We're just making some hot dogs", he muttered in defense. The thrill of eyes watching him fought against the pain of doing wrong to his friends.

"Sure, his wiener in your buns", Ryan growled.

"Come on", Denaun snapped at his friend, "We just went over this."

Ryan pointed his index at Nicolas, the lines of his face a picture of fury. "He's banging him in my kitchen, in my goddamn kitchen. I don't have to fucking take this!"

"Yes, you fucking do!", Denaun argued back. "Remember last 4th of July? You banged your girl in his bed. This is the least you can do."

"Well, it was the guest room", Marshall objected. They should've gone home when they had the chance, this wasn't getting any better.

Denaun huffed about the lame excuse. "Same thing."

"Point is", Rufus explained, "You need to calm the fuck down."

Ondre had his arms crossed, nodding in earnest. "If you don't get your shit together, we throw you out again."

"You can't throw me out, I ain't part of you guys", Ryan snapped back. "Y'all barely part of it." Not an entirely wrong observation, their little band of brothers was slowly falling apart, at least music-wise it was. Without DeShaun, it wasn't the same anymore. He'd been the glue to hold them together.

"Don't matter. If you say shit, we kick you out", Ondre wasn't wavering from his stance.

"What's with you anyway?", Rufus asked Ryan and cocked his head, hardly comprehending the why of the situation.

Denaun turned to Marshall and Nicolas. "We're sorry", he said, "About earlier. Like, you know we don't mean any of that shit. You’re our brother, always." He bumped his fist against Marshall's shoulder. Then he turned back to Ryan and also the younger brother, giving them the evil eye. "Ain't that right, guys?"

Ryan stayed hard: "Don't mean I want that in my kitchen."

"It's a bit weird, but you gonna get used to it", Rufus reassured him. "Hell, we got used to Missy and she's a piece of work, man."

"Hey", Ryan interjected, "She's a good girl."

"Pff, you're a fool."

Denaun still stared at Marcus, unwavering and unrelenting. "So, boy, what's it gonna be? You're either with us, or against us."

"Uh …" Marcus rubbed his hands nervously against each other. "Sure, it's cool man. I was just, uhm … surprised is all. Like I mean, gay that's-"

"Save it", Marshall interrupted, "Don't say, what you don't mean." He stepped forward from behind his friends toward the young man, one hand holding Nicolas's and pulling him with. The other hand patted Marcus's cheek for a moment, patronizing on purpose. "I don't give a fuck what you or anyone thinks. Never have, that's how I got to where I am." A lie and the truth at the same time. Then Marshall moved past him and left the kitchen, but his boyfriend in tow. His heart drummed rapidly against his ribcage and his lungs refused to breath in air.

A strong pressure against his hand, Nicolas squeezed it. A promise that he stood by Marshall, as he already had all night. Fickle relief seeped from Nicolas's fingertips into Marshall's skin, into his muscles and into his blood. A feeling that jittered in his limbs and trickled down his bloodstream, until it reached his fast beating heart. Every new beat strengthened the feeling, relief built up slowly but steadily. Nicolas stood by him. Marshall squeezed back, his fingers embraced the other's hand and his mind embraced the support. It been a long time since he last felt this: It wasn't weak to trust someone.

With quick steps they reached the stairs to the basement. Marshall didn't want to leave his friends or celebrate this night alone, but this was their shit to unpack. He had his own demons to deal with. As he walked down, each step sent a quake through his body, the force shook the muscles in his thighs and worse, shook the toy in his hole. Marshall bit down hard as to not let a moan escape. The pleasure didn't deserve to feel good right now, this was all its fault. If he wasn't gay, he wouldn't have to fear about his friends. A tug at his hand, Marshall turned around standing on the last step.

Nicolas climbed down to stand with him, hand holding on tight. The matte black eyes almost disappeared into the shadows underneath them, the light of the basement wasn't enough to illuminate. "It's okay", the dark voice said and Marshall wanted to hear more.

The tension inside him cracked a little. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his own heartbeat. One of the things his therapist had taught him so he could find calmness in himself. There never was much calm inside him. Marshall nodded, "I know." He leaned forward for a brief kiss, thankful for Nicolas's presence.

From above he could hear commotion and loud voices. His friends were still in the kitchen talking, yelling, fighting. He didn't want to know what their exact words were. He didn't need to know, it was always the same words. A hand lay heavy on his shoulder.

Gently, Nicolas's thumb stroked Marshall's neck. "It's okay", he repeated with his dark, serious voice Marshall loved to hear. "I'm with you." Grabbing Marshall's neck warmly, he pulled him close into a hug. "I want to be with you."

A sob left Marshall's throat. Tightly he wrapped his arms around Nicolas, his hands clung to the gray shirt and he could feel warmth radiate from his boyfriend's body. A warmth that reached down to his soul, a warmth that was slowly melting his loneliness. He pressed his face into the crook of Nicolas's neck, not wanting to cry again. What was there to cry about? After all, his friends tried so very hard to be okay with this. But he hated the fighting.

"My Ice Princess", Nicolas muttered, the words faint and slurred. Marshall loved it. The dark tone of the voice was comfort, the soft consonants were affection, the long syllables were trust. "My adorable slut." Not just acceptance, but approval. An acknowledgement that Marshall was this way and that it was good. Being gay, being easy, being hurt, it didn't make him less - it just made him himself. "I'm with you." More than Marshall could hope for.

Only loosening the hug enough to look into Marshall's face again, Nicolas asked: "Shall I remove the toy?" The rough fingers around his neck caressed Marshall, slow touches that felt eternal.

He shook his head slightly. With this Ryan had been right, Marshall loved to have something inside him, to be full with someone else or the illusion of it anyway. Feeling empty now would make this worse. Besides, the low burning arousal that infused the night was something he enjoyed, even in a moment like this.

A smirk on the thin lips.

"I'm good", Marshall answered, his voice stable. Not just good with the toy, but also with Nicolas. This night had still more to offer and Marshall wanted it. He was sure, he could have it. And when his friends fought? He would bear it. Throughout his life, he had endured a lot, too much undoubtedly, but he was still here and he had still hope. A quick kiss, then a nod towards the couches and the TV set. "Let’s play?"

As they sat down, Marshall grabbed for a controller and started another round of Mario Kart. It wasn't as much fun this time around to race across a sunny beach and to watch the colorful scenery fly by too fast, but the fun was growing.

Nicolas sat close beside him on the couch, their thighs touching and sometimes their shoulders bumped together. Repeatedly, he looked at Marshall with a small, tender smile on his lips.

And Marshall smiled back. A weird thought crossed his mind: Was he the reason his boyfriend smiled? The lines of the face told of a serious, stoic expression as the default and even a smile rarely painted over this completely. But he saw the smiles and smirks quite often and liked every moment he did. If it was because of him, then Nicolas must really like him? A soft warmth flooded his chest he mostly ever felt for his daughters. Not quite the same, but similar enough. His hands clutched the controller tightly. He wasn't ready for this, but he didn't want to squander this chance. Maybe it was his last? Long he pressed a kiss on Nicolas's shoulder.

"You good?", interrupted them. Steps on the stairs, Von was walking down.

Marshall didn't look up, but kept his eyes trained on the TV screen. "I'm fine", he responded with a low murmur. Not the time for a talk.

A dull thud as Von plunked down onto a sofa. "If we say some stupid shit or whatever, just call us out, aight."

"Since when do I need permission?", he asked back. Thumbs pressed harder on the buttons of the controller than they needed to. Calling shit out was easier when it wasn't about yourself, when it didn't rip your heart in two.

Von chuckled. "True that."

"Ya'll just need to chill. It ain't worth the trouble." Which wasn't quite right. It could be worth it, if anything changed. It usually didn't. No need to feel twice the pain for zero reward.

"It ain't?", Von asked surprised.

Marshall snorted dismissive. "I don't need you to defend my honor or some bullshit." Easiest to make fun of the pain and of its cause. If he didn't take it seriously, then it wasn't serious, then it couldn't hurt. A powerful illusion.

"But we're friends", Von objected, forehead drawn into a frown. "We got your back."

Marshall pressed the button to pause the game and looked over to his friend. He was working hard for his face to not betray what he felt or that he felt something at all. His heart had opened too wide tonight and it took too long to close again. One wrong word and he would bleed out. "There's always another reason to hate. I don't care if you say faggot or don't say it. Let Ryan be an asshole, it don't matter." The man hadn't changed in over a decade, one night wouldn't magically transform him into a virtuous person. Not something Marshall had ever believed he could be.

Von looked at him for a long moment in silence, trying to find out how much truth was just said. "You don't want us to be your friends? What shit are you on?"

Sighing deeply, Marshall shook his head. "I want many things, Von, don't mean a single one of them matters here. Like, Ryan's problem ain't with me, it's with himself. All I can do is weather out the storm."

"How d'you mean?", Von leaned forward in his seat, intently listening.

"I can't take responsibility for everything. And I shouldn't." Marshall massaged his brow for second. He was talking too much. "I don't have a problem with being gay, I never have. I'm good with having a boyfriend or that sucking cock turns me on or-"

Von crunched his face.

"The problem is with the rest of ya'll." He pointed to Von, to the expression on his face. "I know you're my friends and you have my back and everything. I know that. But that doesn't mean anyone of us is suddenly different now. The world ain't suddenly different now. It's the same shitty, hate filled world as always." He shrugged helpless.

A little bashful Von rubbed his neck. Maybe unaware he had made that face in the first place. "Sure, I get that. But it doesn't mean it has to be shitty and hate filled here." He gestured around the basement, meaning the friends who were still fighting up above.

"It's shitty and hate filled here", and Marshall tapped against his temple. "I know that people hate fags and I know why. We all grew up the same way, we all believe it the same way. But just 'cause you don't care who I fuck, don't mean you're free of that. Hell, I _am_ gay and I ain't free of that. Say fag, don't say fag - you can't call me worse names than I already call myself." His therapist was right, of course she was. He wasn't bad or broken because of who he was, but because of the people around him. The people he loved but who couldn't understand so they hated pointlessly. People sucked.

Von nodded slowly. "That's why I tell you to call us out. When we say stupid shit, just say so and we stop. It's all a learning process, you know."

"No", Marshall said calmly but firm. "I already made my decision and it won't change anything, if you're nice to Nicolas or ain't. He's my boyfriend, there's no discussion."

"Sure, of course", Von agreed, "Nobody's gonna mess with that. Promise."

Marshall huffed a little annoyed. "You ain't listening. Either you're good with gay people or you ain't. There's no in-between."

Von cocked his head confused. "Obviously", he agreed, "And we're with you."

"Ya'll still believe all this bullshit. Like, all homos fuck everything with a dick, or that you can catch gay from smooching, or that you think sucking a dick is effeminate-"

Again Von scrunched up his face.

And again, Marshall pointed at it: "Exactly. Or that I'm somehow the girl here. You ain't okay with gay people, you're okay with me being the weirdo." He dragged his gaze back to the TV screen and unpaused the game. "It ain't my job to teach you respect. Either you do, or you don't."


	55. Startin' Today, I'm Breakin' Out Of This Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's - Part 3.  
Midnight rolls around and Marshall celebrates it with a bang. Also, a fight breaks out.

"FIVE!"

Cold air breezed across his face. The night sky was black and filled with anticipation. Barely a star was to be seen, only the lights of the city underneath illuminated it. The moon was like a white ribbon, as if he was giving way for the new year to come.

"FOUR!"

The voices of him and his friends called out into the night loud and demanding. He put all his angst and hopes into his voice and shouted it into the sky, into the uncertain future ahead. Did the others, too?

"THREE!"

An arm hugged his shoulders and he leaned back into it, his arm around the waist. A steady body that didn't waver. A steady heart that didn't flee. His boyfriend.

"TWO!"

A nervous, joyful tingle rushed his blood. For once easy to focus his mind on the good: family, friends, love.

"ONE!"

He would make the new year worth it. A vow.

Fireworks clamored and flashed across the sky. Bright colors sprayed across the black vastness, the boom of every explosion echoed through the backyard and his friends cheered for the new year.

So did Marshall. He turned to his boyfriend whose face was bathed in the blazing light, and smiled at him wide. Nicolas smiled back. »Happy New Year's!« They shared a kiss, lips touching another in celebration. A wordless conversation about their future, together. The subtle prickle across his skin and the intermittent shivers up and down his spine felt like a preview now, the toy just a teaser of fun, but Nicolas's hand cupping his ass was a foundation. It wasn't just a seductive touch, but also support. Because his boyfriend just did. The new year rose hope in Marshall's heart that this was actually true. Perhaps, this could be his life?

Denaun pushed sparklers into each their hands, a bright grin on his face. "Happy New Year's!", he yelled above the noise of the fireworks.

"Happy New Year's!", Marshall yelled back and swung the sparkler above his head, welcoming the new beginning. There was still much to do for his life to be good and worth it, for him to be good and worth it - but he had accomplished so much this year. It was good to celebrate what he'd done this year and to look forward to what he would be doing in the next.

He kissed his boyfriend again. »I'm glad you're here.« To celebrate a random date in the calendar, to spend time with his friends, to spend time with him, to be part of Marshall's life. Nicolas's words were true from his own perspective as well: You're good for me.

»Let's get that thing out of you«, Nicolas suggested, the sparkler held between them and its light fizzled onto them both.

A smirk on Marshall's lips. »You're getting impatient all of a sudden?« His boyfriend had made this suggestion a few times over the last two hours or so and as much as Marshall would love to act it out, expecting something sexual to undoubtedly happen, it hadn't been meant to be. Once Ryan had found them too early or a foosball match had to be won or Marshall had lost his revenge in Mario Kart or he couldn't wriggle himself out of Ryan's hold, who had as much fun playing with the toy inside Marshall as Nicolas had. Did he want to finally fuck mindless? Abso-fucking-lutely! He'd wanted it hours ago. At the same time, there was something tempting in this: A toy slowly, relentlessly fucking his hole with every twitch of his muscles, and two men he craved for were demanding his willingness.

»It's been a while«, Nicolas explained.

Of course he was right, these things weren't really meant to stay inside you this long and it's been the whole night. Marshall knew that. Hell, he had toys stuck in him for too long before, he knew this all too well. But the hand on his ass, stroking the cheeks through the denim of the jeans and playing with the base of the toy didn't make him want this less. On the contrary. "Come on, let's celebrate. It's midnight."

The frown on Nicolas's face told of his skepticism.

Marshall pecked a kiss on his boyfriend's lips. »I feel fine, okay? Hot and horny? You bet. But otherwise everything's fine.« He could deal with feeling hot and horny for a few hours just fine. _That's your default setting, slut, you're always hot and horny and you never deal with it just fine, you fuck whoever's near you._ He had some practice with situations like these.

»Don't overdo it«, Nicolas cautioned. »Take care of yourself, alright? I like to fuck your ass for the rest of the year as well, not just tonight.« With how possessive and adamant his hand grabbed Marshall's butt cheeks over and over again, nobody could doubt that.

»And I like to hear that«, he answered amused. His own hands totally exploited the buttonlessness of Nicolas's shirt, to feel the other's skin underneath his fingertips was the best.

"Happy New Year's!", Ryan wished them as he staggered over. His drinking was catching up with him by now and made his strut a little wobbly.

Marshall waved back in acknowledgment. "Happy New Year's."

They shared a hug, a long one and Ryan pressed them close together. The smooth voice whispered: "We gon' celebrate soon", and Marshall's ear tingled underneath the warm puff of air. "Gonna greet the new year with a bang." Ryan's hands squeezed Marshall's ass, pushing their hips closer together.

A smallish moan came out of him, his ass more sensitive than usual and where their hips connected, heat had been collecting all night. "I knew you'd say that. I can tell the future by the splatter of jizz, you know."

Ryan chuckled. "Of course you can."

"It's a skill", Marshall agreed with a grin. Their hug broke apart, though their friends were too busy with shooting fireworks into the sky and didn't pay any attention to this.

Slowly, Nicolas's hand was stroking Marshall's lower back. Always there.

"If he can stop touching you for five fucking minutes", Ryan grumbled, his eyes fixed on Nicolas's arm.

Marshall shrugged unperturbed. "It's what boyfriends do."

Ryan snorted dismissive. "He's a lousy boyfriend."

"And you know that how?", he asked back and cocked his head. Admittedly, Nicolas wasn't the best person to be with, but as far as boyfriends went he was pretty good. A lot of patience and understanding, show of support and affection. In Marshall's book that was the opposite of lousy.

"Did you already forget?" Ryan pulled Marshall closer by his arm. "How battered he left you? The bruises you had? You were crying on the couch not too long ago."

But he also remembered the hours long video call, the concern on Nicolas's face and his effort to help Marshall out of the funk he'd been in. That Nicolas had instantly ended the sex when Marshall couldn't handle it no longer. He wanted for Marshall to enjoy life and any kinky sex they might have - and Marshall believed him. "I told you, it's fine."

"No, it ain't." Ryan stepped into Nicolas's space, poking his index finger into the half naked chest. "If you hurt him again, I'ma hurt you. You got that?"

Nicolas's arm shot up and grabbed Ryan's hand hard. "He's not your toy", he said with his deep voice.

"C'mon guys, don't", Marshall tried to intervene, pushing against both men to break them apart. But they didn't budge, only stared at each other grimly.

"Don't treat him as disposable. Take responsibility", Nicolas explained coldly, disgust drew the lines of his face. How little he thought of Ryan was sizzling in the air.

Although two inches of difference didn't usually mean much, Ryan used his height and the muscle mass of his body to intimidate. Anger was flaming across his face. "I treat him like I want. He's my friend, not yours."

"Guys, just stop, aight." Marshall pulled at the men's shoulders, trying to bring space between them. But the high-strung tension brought the two back together like a magnet.

"You don't belong here, deaf boy. He don't need some dumb midget, he needs a real man." Repeatedly, Ryan poked his index finger into the other's chest and put more and more force behind it. On the last words he shoved him.

But Nicolas's stance was sturdy. As an answer, he swung his fist against the other's face.

"Stop!", Marshall yelled.

Lunging forwards, Nicolas tackled Ryan and threw the bigger but drunk man to the ground. One hand fisting Ryan's t-shirt, the other hand balled into a fist and raised as a threat. "You're a fucking coward. Can't get off on your women, so you take it out on him. What a great fucking friend you are, asshole." His words slurred in the heat of the moment.

"Fuck you!" Ryan wrestled against the man on top of him. "He loves it and you know it. Jealous motherfucker, I fuck you up." The fist connected with Ryan's face, a gurgled groan.

"Hell! What're you doing?" Marshall wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders and tried to pull him back, putting all his own body weight into it. "Stop it! Shit, guys, don't."

Nicolas bared his teeth snarling and struggled against Marshall's pull, struggled against Ryan's defense. His stoic and unbothered demeanor, that he'd worn all night, was shattered and revealed the ire underneath. "You don't deserve him."

"I'm taking what's mine", Ryan spat back. A hand was pushing against Nicolas's chin, pushing the man's face upwards. "Get off me, fucking punk!"

"Stop it!", Marshall pleaded and his heels dug into the grassy ground, but his boyfriend was hard to move.

"What happened!", Denaun asked alarmed, rushing to Marshall's side and helped pulling at Nicolas's limbs. "The fuck is wrong with you two? Can't you not fight?"

With a combined effort, they pulled Nicolas off and fell backwards onto the lawn. Marshall fell on his ass, a hot flash exploded into his nerves and a tremor of erotic agony shook his body. His throat escaped a shout.

But at the same time, Ryan was still cursing at Nicolas and both scrambled up onto their feet. "You wanna fight? You can have a fucking fight!" Now he swung his fist against Nicolas's head but the man ducked out of the way in time.

"Hey hey hey", Rufus yelled and put himself in front of Ryan, "The hell's going on here?" His big body was a good barrier between the two hotheads.

"He fucking started it", Ryan defended himself angry, gesturing wildly toward the other man.

Denaun helped Marshall to his feet, now he asked: "The fuck how? He can't talk, he didn't start nothing. Don't take your temper out on us, man."

This was his fault. One more reason why cheating was bad: Two people he liked so much hated each other fiercely. "It's okay. We just gonna leave, aight. Everything's fine", and Marshall held on to Nicolas's arm. The grip hid the shaking of his hands. "Let's go home, aight."

"It's enough that _he_ leaves", Ryan growled and his eyes stabbed the other man.

Nicolas flipped him the middle finger in response, his other arm lay around Marshall's shoulders and pressed him close.

"What good does that do? Next time Marsh brings him along, you just gonna fight again", Ondre thought out loud. "This is a new year, why not try to end this silly fight once and for all?"

"The hell would I do that for?", Ryan asked bewildered. "He can fucking leave and keep outta my sight."

Nicolas bared his teeth again, ready to attack again. Clearly a challenge to end the fight by fist. He didn't give in to Ryan's demand.

In a placating gesture, Denaun held his arms out standing in front of Nicolas. "Aight, got it, you wanna fight. But does it have to be with fists?" A short, easily overlooked nod to Marshall. "Think about it."

He still held on tight to Nicolas's arm, feet ready to leave the backyard and to leave his friend's party. "It ain't worth it", Marshall tried to persuade his boyfriend. "Let's just leave. We can figure this out another time."

"Yeah, fucking run, deaf boy!" But Ryan kept behind Rufus. "You wouldn't win anyway. I'll put you into the ground."

"Shut up, Ryan", Denaun snapped at him.

"Maybe not?" Rufus eased his stance. "How about a game? Whoever wins, wins … well, him or whatever. Sounds good to me."

A long look to Marshall, then Nicolas nodded firmly, agreeing.

"What?", Marshall asked perplex. They wanted to play a game over him? This couldn't be serious!

Ryan let out a short laugh. "I'm so gonna destroy you!"

"No!", Marshall objected harshly, "The fuck you gonna. This is ridiculous. We're leaving. Now!" He took a few steps away, a strong yank pulled Nicolas with him.

Who stumbled a little, until he regained his balance and twisted his arm free. »He needs to fucking learn his lesson«, he signed furious.

»What lesson?«, Marshall signed back, »This is my fault. I brought you here when I knew better. Let's just leave and I don't bring you anymore. Case closed.«

Nicolas shook his head. »That's bullshit. He can't dictate who you like or don't like. He's a jealous fuck and he doesn't treat you right. Somebody has to show him his place.«

»Oh, and that one is you? You don't even know him.« The tremble in Marshall's limbs wasn't just erotic agony anymore, but also anger and frustration.

»I don't need to«, Nicolas explained and he stepped toward Marshall. Cupping the face with both his hands, Nicolas kissed him lightly on the lips. »You wanted me here, but he doesn't care about what you want. If you don't teach him, I will.«

Marshall rubbed both his hands over his face. His heart knew, there was truth in Nicolas's words. The night in Ryan's apartment came to mind: the angry sex they had, how raw and uncared for Marshall had woken up. Nothing new to him, but different when a friend treated him this way. A small voice inside him wanted Ryan to know that he couldn't do this with Marshall. Although, every other voice inside of him knew that Marshall would do it again, always. He sighed exasperated. "Fine!", he said out loud, "Do whatever, I don't give a fuck."

A mean, triumphant grin on Nicolas's face as he turned back around to Ryan and the rest of the group. "It's on, bitch."

"You need your sweetheart's permission?", Ryan asked mockingly. "That's whack. Can't even make your own decisions, deaf boy."

Marshall snorted abrasive. "Shut up, Ryan."

"So, what you wanna do?", Von asked. "What you're good at?"

"Basketball", Ryan answered immediately.

From Marshall burst a short laugh. "Believe me, you won't destroy him in that. First, he'll break your bones."

"What does that mean?", Ryan asked irritated.

"It means", Marshall explained with a nonchalant shrug, "That he doesn't play basketball, he's sparring and throws the ball through the net sometimes. He holds back with me, but I doubt he'll have any reservations when playing you."

Ryan raised his eyebrows skeptical. "So, he cheats?"

"Your wife don't mind", Nicolas said out loud and Marshall noticed a strain in the dark voice. The f-sound was a strong hiss, when usually Nicolas spoke these a lot softer. Was he trying to speak extra clear?

"That's different", Ryan defended himself like a petulant child.

"No basketball, then", Ondre summed up. "What else? Arm-wrestling?"

In a gesture of thought, Von crossed his arms and his eyes were trained on Nicolas. "That don't seem fair. Look at his arms, they twigs. It should at least be fair."

Denaun huffed dismissive. "Bullshit, I seen him fight. He can throw a man through a wall, then he can arm-wrestle Ryan no problem."

"Nah, let things be fair", Ryan interjected, hands half up in defense. "Nobody needs to throw no one through a wall here. I promised to keep the house clean, remember."

"Foosball", Nicolas suggested.

With a sense of accomplishment, Rufus clapped his hands. "Yeah, that sounds fair. Foosball it is."

"Hey, how he gets to choose?", Ryan flared up.

"You got a better idea?", Denaun asked back. "Stop complaining and get moving." An impatient gesture towards the door back into the house.

Von shoved lightly against Ryan's shoulder. "Come, you got the home advantage."

"Haha, funny", Ryan said dryly.

This was not how Marshall had imagined New Year's to go. The toy in his ass, which twitched in his strained hole with every step back into the house, had been unsurprising and felt like a natural progression of all the things that had happened in the last few weeks - more like all his life really. But this? Marshall was unenthused, to say the least. Whoever of the two won, he probably lost. That's what the ominous feeling in his stomach told him. _Pussy! You're thrilled they're fighting over you. You gon' celebrate the victory by fucking him mindless and you gon' comfort the loser by fucking him senseless. Just be honest, slut, you wanna be the prize cup and the participation trophy._ As delicious as that sounded, it still pissed him off. They couldn't just gamble and decide over his head like this. What was supposed to happen? Ryan won and forbade Marshall to be with Nicolas any longer? The fuck he'd do! Nicolas won and forbade Marshall to be with Ryan any longer? They'd fucking been here before.

Ryan put his arm around Marshall's shoulders. "Don't worry, I'ma win and you'll be rid of him. It's for your own good."

"Fuck you. You ain't doing shit for me", and Marshall pulled away from his friend. Why couldn't Ryan just listen to him? It wasn't hard to understand: He was fine and he wanted this relationship. No saving needed.

All their feet stomped noisily downstairs, the wood of the staircase complained about the strain. The friends gathered around the table, Nicolas and Ryan took on their positions at the handles. Denaun tapped Nicolas's shoulder approvingly, wishing him luck. Marcus stood behind his brother, silent but with a brooding face. Von had grabbed his beer on the walk over and sipped from it with quiet anticipation. Ondre shook his head briefly, but watched with curiosity. Except Marshall, he was leaning against the counter underneath the staircase and watched from afar.

Rufus had taken out a coin and flipped it. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails", Ryan answered.

Nicolas nodded grimly.

Looking down to the coin on the back of his hand, Rufus declared: "Tails. Ryan gets the ball."

With a triumphant grin, Ryan took the ball and held it to the small hole at the side of the table. "I'm already winning, midget." Then he pushed the ball through and the clonks and clanks of the game began. Swiftly, Ryan grabbed one handle after another, turning the bars and kicking the ball around. The movements strong and confident, like their sex was. Every so often, Ryan grunted or muttered a few words: "You be going down." Always sure of himself, that was Ryan in a nutshell. So sure, he couldn't listen to what Marshall was telling him. So sure, he sometimes ignored what Marshall wanted, 'cause Ryan knew better somehow. Wasn't this the core of their problem? Ryan was so sure that Nicolas was bad for Marshall, yet he didn't listen to how things actually were. So sure, he knew Marshall best. But he didn't listen. A problem that wasn't new, but had gotten worse over time.

The first goal, Nicolas's score. A mean grin on his lips.

Scarred hands quick and lightweight between the bars, every turn a precise movement. His matte black eyes didn't settle on the ball, but always looking at where it would be next. Every so often there was a tremor going through the table when he pulled too hard, Nicolas knew exactly what he wanted and would use force to get it. A contrast to their relationship when he would often take himself back and give Marshall the space and time he needed. He pushed hard and shook Marshall up just as much as the table now, but not breaking, eyes always looking ahead to where they could be and maneuvering quickly, precisely to get them there. Was that why he talked so much and so openly about his feelings and intentions? Despite it being obviously uncomfortable for him, and for Marshall. But Nicolas was a fighter and words were one of the weapons in his arsenal, as was sex.

The second goal, Nicolas's score. The mean grin broadened.

Slowly Marshall understood why the sex-embargo had been a thing and that it been good. He had felt it at the time, but it became ever clearer recently: This wasn't just about sex. Their relationship had started that way, the sex-app and the motel and the goal had never been love, but there was a level of trust and intimacy between them Nicolas had carefully grown. Marshall wasn't sure why, yet he felt grateful regardless. He felt seen. Even when their sex was rough or degrading, there was always admiration within Nicolas. When he called him an adorable slut, Marshall's heart swelled. It wasn't just an insult, it was adoration of the truth. Nicolas saw him for who he was: How he was fucking around too easy, how he thought of himself too lowly, how he wanted to be pretty and useful and a someone so desperately but only knew how to make himself into a toy for others to enjoy, how he worked so hard for the people around him to have the best life possible but his own often lay in shambles, how he wasn't as strong as he portrayed himself to be but also broken - and Nicolas cherished all of this. A new feeling.

The third goal, Ryan's score this time. "Eat that, shitface!"

Despite them being friends for a long time, he didn't trust Ryan in the same way. Would he tell him why he had always tried to hide his gayness? About the pain and abuse he'd gone through, people he loved hating him openly, how alone he often had felt? Somehow, he couldn't imagine them talking about this sincerely. Maybe because of the fissures still present in their friendship, the years apart and the break-up had opened a rift that wasn't entirely closed yet. Maybe it would never fully close again. Back in the day Marshall had been unable and unwilling to see the world as clearly as he did today. The wounds too fresh, the pain too much to deal with head on, so he had put on a mask even to himself often times. He just wanted to live. And sometimes it was as if Ryan liked that mask, but less so who Marshall really was. Which is what he was supposed to like, that's what the mask was there for, but it made his declarations 'I know you, I know what's good for you' ring hollow. Did he really? Then why didn't he listen? Marshall knew, he said too often that he was fine when he wasn't, admitting when he felt broken and hurt wasn't his strength. Outside of his music he rarely found the right words, but Ryan knew where their music was coming from. But he didn't listen.

The fourth goal, Nicolas's score this time. He stuck his tongue out mockingly.

There was a shallowness in their friendship that Marshall couldn't go past. The sex was great, but it wasn't anything more than that. Fun. This was what their friendship boiled down to: fun in bed and fun in the studio. For one of those Marshall could always be clear and adamant about his own wishes, for the other Marshall at times couldn't vocalize what he needed. Or to be more exact, what he needed was often caught between opposites and he himself didn't really know what that meant. Now being permanently sober he could try to grapple with this - not that he was particularly keen to or good at it - but in the past he would numb himself with drugs and alcohol. He saw this now. Long before he gotten addicted, he'd done this. It was a lot more fun when the pain didn't stare you in the face. Ryan just wanted the fun.

The fifth goal, Nicolas's score again. He bared his teeth in a challenging grin, like a shark ready to strike.

Nicolas stayed through the pain. Understanding that it was an unavoidable part of life, but also that he couldn't do much to alleviate it. And that was relief itself. Outside of his music Marshall didn't share much about the lows of his life, even less so about those his music didn't show. Mostly as an attempt at hiding from himself, but also as protection. If he let his cold, goofy demeanor fall, he was all raw and sensitive underneath. He had never been different, but it been eating away at him for all this time. Nicolas not only saw this, but tried to give him space and reassurance and Marshall appreciated all this effort. He wished, he could give something back … Perhaps he already did? He had a tendency to be too caught up with himself, only seeing his failings and failures, concentrating on all the negativity in his life. It was where his creativity came from. But he went to therapy to better himself and his life, to find a way of being himself that had a future. Could it have a place for Nicolas?

The sixth goal, Nicolas's final score: 5-1. Victory. He brandished both his middle fingers.

"You fucking shit!", Ryan growled and leaped over the table in an attack, arms stretched out to grab for Nicolas to wrestle or choke him.

Commotion in the group of friends, all hands trying to stop the worst from happening.

Marshall pushed himself off the counter and went the few steps over. With a hard grip he snatched the collar of Ryan's t-shirt and pulled him down. The sound of fabric tearing lightly, he felt it in his fingertips as well. Their faces were close, his eyes pierced into his friend. "We need to talk. Now."

Ryan looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. "Okay?", surprise in the quiet word.

The grin on Nicolas's face was easy to read: Serves you right, motherfucker.

But Marshall wasn't having it. "You, too", he pointed to his boyfriend sharply and then upstairs. With a push he let go of Ryan's t-shirt and walked to the stairs. The toy made itself felt with every step, but climbing the stairs up put a little less strain on it than the other way. Also, Marshall wasn't in the headspace to concentrate on the tingling pleasure or the small prickling of discomfort. These two needed to get their heads set straight.

He didn't bother to walk into any room as he emerged from the stairs, but just turned around to face them both. "You need to shut the fuck up", Marshall told them harshly. "I'm not watching your fucking asinine bickering any longer. Stop it or neither of you will fuck me again. Got that?"

"But he started it", Ryan answered back, pointing at the other man.

Nicolas pretended to pick his ear with his pinky. A show of disinterest.

"I don't fucking care. I'm ending it", Marshall declared with hardness in his voice. "I'm sick and tired of this bullshit. I don't need this and I don't need you for sex, there's plenty other fish in the sea. So, agree on a truce or say bye-bye to my ass."

»He's the one making a fool of himself«, Nicolas signed, »If he wasn't such a dickhead, I wouldn't have a problem with him.«

Marshall snorted in disbelief. His boyfriend didn't hide well, how much he enjoyed the fighting. Not a surprise, Nicolas loved fighting with swords or fists or probably anything.

"Come on, we're friends, best friends really", Ryan said using his smooth voice. He stepped forward to put an arm around Marshall's shoulder and pulled him close. "I know the real you. We've been together long before he heard your name on TV. He's just queening it, 'cause he gets to bang someone famous. It's obvious who you need to cut loose."

Surprised by the audacity Marshall blinked at his friend for a second. A blow this low he hadn't expected. "How stupid do you think I am?", he asked back. "Seriously, that's your fucking defense: I'm too famous for him? Shut the fuck up." He pushed Ryan away from him. "I rather be too famous than too fucking gay. So yeah, it's really obvious."

"I didn't mean it like that", Ryan tried to salvage, "I was young and stupid, it's been years since then. Like, that was a whole lifetime ago, no need to hold a grudge about it. Don't we make a good match? Our sex is fantastic."

"Tonight", Nicolas said, his deep voice cut the air.

"What?", Ryan asked confused. "Shut up, this ain't about you."

"Tonight", Nicolas repeated, "Passed fag on to him."

"No, I didn't-"

"Save it", Marshall interrupted harshly. "Nicolas is my boyfriend. Get with the program or we're done."

"But he-"

"I said, save it", Marshall interrupted again, firm impatience colored his voice. "This ain't up for debate."

Ryan crossed his arms in front of his chest. For a moment he was silent, weighing his options. "But we're still having sex, right? You can't keep your hands to yourself anyway, and it's better with me." Always so sure of himself.

Nicolas flipped him the middle finger.

"You made him fucking cry", Ryan explained angered, turning to the other man and stared into the abyss of black eyes. "How's that for a boyfriend, huh? Fucking asshole. You put a sex ban on him - on him all of people. Like, really? You want the break-up so bad? You give him bruises all over and make him cry, and you can't even hear. He's a fucking musician, you dumbass. Why're you even fucking here? You're the worst lover he could ask for."

Arms shaking, Nicolas's hands were balled into fists and the muscles in his jaw visibly trembled in tension.

But quickly Marshall stepped between the two. "That's my fucking decision", he was almost yelling at his friend. Why wasn't Ryan listening? "I decide who the hell I fuck." Was he making healthy decisions? Possibly not, but these were his mistakes to make. He had to live this life, not anybody else. "Me! If that's too much for you, then we're done."

"No, we're not", Ryan answered and his hand reached forward, grabbed Marshall's ass. A moan escaped from Marshall's lips. "See? You still want me, you always will. You want to fuck me right now, even when you're yelling at me. So, maybe you need to get with the program."

"Back off!", Nicolas said out loud.

"Or what?", Ryan challenged back. "You failed to put a leash on him, even tonight you can't. You're here but he's sucking me off. What you gonna do about it, huh?"

There was hot anger in Nicolas's face. "You put a leash on a dog, not your friend."

"You two are absolutely the fucking worst!", and he was almost tearing his hair out. Marshall was done with this. Maybe the only way out of this was to stop being with either of them. Sounded like an awful prospect, but better than this.

"You're deflecting", Nicolas explained, his raspy voice trying hard to speak clear, hissing and clicking more than it should. "You are a horrible friend and a terrible lover." He stepped into Ryan's space and stared him down with the intensity of a wild beast. "You want him on a leash like a pet, but he's not. You want him as property, but he's not. You hurt his body and soul, but you can't face that. You love him, but you can't stand by him. I'm not a good man, but I know how to treat a person with respect. That's why I'm here: Because he wants to be with me, and he wants to be with you. That's his choice and he deserves the dignity to live by that."

Silence spread between the three men as the dark voice dissipated in the hallway. A second felt like half an eternity. Ryan stared at Nicolas speechless.

»Be careful«, Nicolas signed to Marshall as he so often did, »Take care of yourself, okay?« Softly he kissed Marshall on the lips, long and innocent. »Celebrate the New Year, Kitten.«

The nickname made Marshall smile a little as he nodded, »Happy New Year's … Buttons.« The smile widened as he signed the last word. A weird feeling curled around his stomach, but a good one.

Nicolas chuckled. Another kiss between them and he walked down back into the basement.

"What was that?", Ryan asked confused, staring at the spot where Nicolas had been and not understanding why the man wasn't there anymore.

Marshall rolled his eyes. "That was being mature. Maybe you can try that some time."

Ryan huffed dismissive. "So, did you guys break up just now or what?"

"No, we're very much a couple." A couple in an open relationship, but a couple nonetheless. Perhaps, now even more so than when they had arrived earlier this night.

"Really?", Ryan asked disbelieving and shook his head, "He just gave you over to me, couples don't do that."

Marshall shrugged, not really wanting to explain this. "We're a different type of couple. What's it matter?"

"He handed you off to me", Ryan insisted. Sliding closer, he put both his hands on Marshall's sides, softly holding on to him. "I don't know about you, but a relationship where your lover doesn't want you … doesn't sound like a worthwhile thing to me. Don't you think?"

Marshall shoved against Ryan's shoulder. "Lucky for you he's not your lover then."

But Ryan wasn't moved, neither by the shove nor by the words. "Don't make this hard for me, I'm trying to look out for you. That's what friends do."

"I didn't ask you to", Marshall objected and wriggled himself out of his friend's grip.

"Someone has to." Ryan put an arm around the front of Marshall's shoulders and pulled him close, the muscular chest connecting to the back. His other arm snaked around Marshall's torso. "I'm the best choice for you, just trust me."

"Best choice for me?", Marshall asked amused. Where did his friend take all this confidence from?

Ryan hummed agreeing and kissed Marshall's earlobe. "Yes, I'm the best choice for you. I know you as an artist and as a friend, and I know you as a lover."

Marshall couldn't help to give his friend more room, leaning his head to the side. Of course Ryan would exploit his weak spot like this, his ears were too fucking sensitive. A nervous flutter in Marshall's stomach. "You knew me as a lover ten years ago", he held against Ryan's assumptions, more to tease and less to argue.

"Well, everything that was true back then is still true now", Ryan explained with a grin, "I mean, you were young, dumb and full of cum." The tongue licked along the folds of Marshall's ear and sent a shiver down his spine. "You're so flamingly gay you're practically on fire, even when you're banging a girl." Marshall pushed his elbow into Ryan's rips behind him. He hadn't been that bad at hiding it. "You can hardly go a day without sex and you'd do anything for it - or with anyone." Ryan's teeth bit softly into Marshall's ear. He bit his lips in return. "You love to have a dick inside you", the dark, smooth voice crept deep into Marshall's ear, "And you love it reckless, rough and hard."

"I was …", Marshall swallowed, "I was like twenty, that ain't special. Everyone's stupid at that age." Nothing in these words sounded like a compliment. He wanted to defend his younger self, but there wasn't anything good to defend.

Ryan puffed amused into his ear. "You were almost thirty when we met."

"Numbers don't mean shit", he muttered.

"Just sayin'", and Ryan's hand began to stroke Marshall's stomach, "You ain't much different now. I know that. And he knows it, too."

Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Yes, Nicolas knew all that. Tonight hadn't hid anything: the constant flirting and touching Ryan and Marshall had shared, the obvious signs of the blowjob on his face, the toy inside him - all of this Nicolas accepted without a question. Sometimes he had even encouraged it, signed some flirty teasing in Marshall's direction or played with the toy a little himself.

"And because he knows this, he gave you over to me", Ryan declared and rubbed his groin against Marshall's ass. "He knows, I'm the best choice for you."

A silent gasp. "Is that so?", his voice managed the defiant tone better than expected.

Ryan sucked the spot right under Marshall's ear where his neck and jaw met. The hand on his stomach found a way underneath the white t-shirt, stroking firmly across the skin and made the muscles twitch. "I know how to treat you right."

Which was exactly what Nicolas's gripe was all about. By all indications, he didn't care about the sex Marshall had, but only that he was treated right. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread out through Marshall's chest and the smallish smile curled around the edges of his lips again.

"And Sunny", Ryan added and his lips kissed Marshall's cheek through the syllables, "You want me more than him. That he knows too."

Still, the nickname sounded too cheerful if Marshall was asked. Hadn't really fit him ten years ago, didn't fit him now. He wasn't a happy person, but he had taken it to mean how happy he made Ryan. That he had liked a lot back then. "Maybe I just want your dick?", he suggested in a playful tone. His hands clutched at Ryan's arm lying loosely around his neck. A hold over from ten years ago as well, not always in a good way.

"You probably do", Ryan admitted and bit into Marshall's ear. "But we're also friends, I take that as a win." The fingernails fondly scratched across Marshall's stomach. "It's probably the closest you come to love anyway." He rubbed his groin against Marshall's denim covered ass again. "And I've been waiting all night for this. I'm not gonna let him ruin it."

Marshall scrunched his eyes shut and his jaw muscles clenched hard. Some things really never changed. After an audible exhale he snarled: "Then do it. Get your dick inside me." He hadn't been good for much else ten years ago, why would it be different now? Just because Nicolas said nice things to him? Laughable.

"Relax", Ryan said amused and turned Marshall around so they could face each other. Both his hands squeezed the ass cheeks, making the toy shaking inside Marshall. "I've been waiting all night to get my real dick inside you", and he kissed Marshall briefly, "I even fought over you - Let me enjoy my victory."

Marshall huffed dismissive. "What's there to fight? I'm always open for dick." His body rubbed into the other's hands, his ass wiggled in their grip.

Ryan kissed him again, the grin sensible on Marshall's lips. "My dick", he corrected, "Only my dick." With a yank, he pressed their bodies flush against each other, their hips still clothed connecting. The fingers dug deep into the denim, into the firm flesh of Marshall's ass. A moan that was buried between their lips. "My dick's the only one that makes you cum this good", Ryan promised.

Marshall closed his eyes, he liked the sound of that. His own hands crept underneath the t-shirt and felt up Ryan's back, felt the other's skin underneath his fingertips. "Prove it", he whispered against the full lips, a challenge his body would be the battleground for. _Don't bite off more dick than you can suck, slut._ That was exactly what he was doing.

The answer was a gentle push. Their lips held the kiss and their hands held on to each other's bodies while their feet moved them through the hall, stumbling over each other. Marshall braced himself against the wall with one hand, feeling his way backwards and brushing against a photograph. He didn't bother to open his eyes and check since there wasn't the sound of glass breaking. Wasn't his photo anyway. With a thud his back hit a door, he was pressed against the wood by Ryan's large frame. Hands sliding the t-shirt up Marshall's body to freely roam across his skin, a thumb pinched one of his nipples. His body stretched toward the hands, toward Ryan to feel more. Marshall stifled a moan.

"Nah-ah", Ryan chided gently, "Don't be quiet. Be loud, be proud."

Amused Marshall raised his eyebrows. "Like this?", and added with a strong, shrill voice, "I'm here, I'm queer!" He cocked his head back and with a theatrical, divalike hand gesture faked a swoon.

Using the open space on the pale neck, Ryan kissed along the Adam's apple. His voice vibrated through it as he answered: "Yeah, like that. You love to be loud."

Marshall stretched his neck even more, his hands cupped the other's jaw to keep him there. "We're not alone here", he answered more serious.

"That never stopped you before."

True. Didn't mean this was a good habit of his, most of his habits weren't good. "Let's just fuck, aight." His foot pushed against the door which stayed unmoved in its frame.

"We will", Ryan assured him. "And you'll be loud, I promise. Even that deaf boy of yours will hear you moan."

Marshall's ears heated up. "That's supposed to make me hot? I ain't into jealousy play, you know." Except for Ryan's intensity, which was stirring Marshall's dick on. Or that was the toy in his ass, who knew.

Ryan pressed a wild kiss on his mouth. One of his arms went around Marshall's body and turned the door knob. The door opened and Marshall almost fell inside, if Ryan didn't hold him close. "I know that you love an audience."

Now Marshall was blushing all over, his hands grabbed on to Ryan's t-shirt hard as he struggled to find his footing again. "For music, idiot", he huffed.

"Sure, sure", Ryan said amused and disbelieving, pushing him through the door.

"If Nicolas can hear me", Marshall explained with a bit of spite, "Then your brother definitely can as well. Better even, actually."

There was a noticeable halt in Ryan. "You wouldn't."

Marshall smiled at his friend. "You know me, if you get me going …", and he added a meaningful shrug.

"Forget all that", Ryan muttered and closed the door, "It's just us."

"Good." Marshall reached his hand out and pulled his friend close again, kissed him again.

One of Ryan's hands squeezed Marshall's ass again. "Well, you, me and your ass, that is."

"My ass thanks you for the inclusion?" His fingers ruffed up Ryan's t-shirt, wanting it off that handsome body.

"Yeah, I'm nice like that, ain't I. Can't have your ass feeling left out." Another tight squeeze to the butt cheeks.

Marshall bit down a moan. "Only a little. Trying to fob him off with a little toy like this, that's a bit shabby." It was too thin to fill him out enough and it was too short to touch his prostate, and wasn't that a bit mean? All this little toy did was making him long for more. For Ryan's dick, big and beautiful.

"I'ma remedy that." Another squeeze with both hands. "Come, turn around. Lemme see that white, perky ass of yours." Ryan grinned teasingly and his teeth showed bright.

Giving the grin back, Marshall turned around and opened his jeans one more time this night. Perhaps, he should've come without pants, would've made things easier. His half hard dick did appreciate the removal of the coarse, sturdy fabric, 'cause rubbing against it all night had swerved between tantalizingly too little and unbearably too much. "How can I say no to an ask this nicely." Playfully he swiveled his hips, thumbs hooked into the waistband and he slid the jeans off. They caught around his knees.

"Let me see", Ryan repeated and pushed the briefs down himself. Big hands cupped Marshall's ass again and the feel of skin on skin made him moan. A warm prickle spread from where Ryan touched him. Right in his ear, Ryan said: "Made just for me."

Marshall leaned back, a hand raised to caress the top of Ryan's head. "Then use it, aight."

"Oh, I will", Ryan promised and put another kiss on Marshall's neck. With a slight push, he moved him forward. "But first, I wanna have a good look at it."

The pants hanging around his knees only allowed for tiny steps, the denim sliding down from the movement and pooled around his ankles. Marshall braced himself on the sink, the white porcelain cool against his hands. He wiggled his ass to invite and to tempt. "I want more than your eyes, you know."

A chuckle. The big hands didn't leave the pale skin, gently caressing the outer thighs. "Patience, Sunny, patience."

Marshall rolled his eyes, the mirror repeated the gesture. Turning his shoulder slightly to the side, he saw Ryan standing behind him, gaze down and eyes focused. The tip of his tongue was darting out between the full lips. Marshall felt a tug to the toy, his hole clenched around it. In the mirror he saw Ryan smirk, their eyes met.

"Your ass really can't get enough, hm."

Ryan had no idea. Even when Marshall had pretended to be straight, his ass couldn't get enough and only his own anxiousness stood in the way. A dismissive snort about himself, thinking back to the hesitation from a couple months ago. Why had he been afraid of Nicolas's dick inside him? He couldn't remember anymore and it seemed so silly now. "You gon' make his wish come true?", he asked and wiggled his ass with the words.

The smirk broadened. Another tug at the toy. It was pulled out a little, just enough for its broadest section to stretch his hole. Then a little wiggle and Marshall moaned. "So hungry", Ryan muttered.

"Then, why don't you feed him?", Marshall asked. Looking himself in the eye while he said that created a slight blush on his face. His lips already pink and swollen from the kissing and a whole night of biting his lips in low-key arousal. He really needed to stop that.

Slowly, the toy was pulled out of him until it was finally gone. A sad sigh left him, the anticipation of more didn't curb the empty, lonely, languishing feeling that spread from his open hole. Now without anything to cling to it felt a little raw from the hours of use. His hands grabbed the edge of the sink tighter.

Softly, Ryan's thumb drew circles on the ass cheek, but even this left him. Through the mirror he saw his friend turning to the cupboard and fetching the small bottle of lube for them, closing the drawer again.

Marshall frowned. "And the condoms?" When would Ryan learn? This wasn't hard to remember and it was the least they could do.

Ryan rolled his eyes and sighed annoyed, but he opened the drawer again to fetch one as well, mouthing Marshall's words mockingly.

Trying to kick his friend, Marshall didn't get his foot off the ground without losing balance, his pants binding his legs to one another. Gripping the sink harder, he put both his feet sturdy on the ground. He slid them as far apart as his clothes would allow.

With a little tease Ryan stroked along Marshall's side. "You tryin' to run away?"

"If you don't get this going", he answered and wiggled his ass again, stretching his ass backwards to rub against Ryan's body.

"Give me a sec", Ryan huffed. He opened his belt and pants and prepared his cock.

Marshall turned his shoulder again to see more, to watch Ryan work on his big, black, beautiful dick. He bit his lips with excited anticipation, a smirk in the corners of his mouth.

A cool, lube covered finger smeared around his hole, which was very eager to take it in. "Thought so, that thing loosened you up good."

"I was born loose", Marshall answered.

Ryan chuckled, "Yes, you were." A hand gripped Marshall's hip firmly, the tip of Ryan's dick knocked against the eager hole. The push in was slow but relentless, they both moaned.

A weight like a boulder fell off Marshall's chest, that he had a real life dick inside his hole again. A toy just wasn't the same. He never wanted to wait this long again. The stretch on his hole was so much more than before, filled out completely and thoroughly, the reach of his sweet spot inevitable. Every fiber of Marshall's body tuned in to the dick inside him, to the pleasure it just being there already gave him, to the delight it moving inside him would be. His ass pushed back to have more, everything.

"Look at you." Ryan's hand stroked across his lower back, sliding the white t-shirt up again.

Marshall raised his eyes, all dark with lust and big pupils. His mouth hung open, the pink, swollen lips moaned with relish and his cheeks had a soft blush to them. Marshall swallowed hard.

"You're so fucking hot", Ryan whispered into his ear.

Marshall leaned his head back and caught his friend's lips in a kiss.

And Ryan pulled his dick out just as slowly as before, making Marshall whimper. But he didn't leave fully, pushing back inside. A steady, appreciative rhythm pushed and pulled the dick inside him, the drag against his inner walls made him shudder every once in a while, the pressure against his sweet spot let sonant moans and groans tumble out of his mouth. His own dick rubbed against the underside of the sink, smooth, cool porcelain against his hot skin. The force behind Ryan's thrusts pushed him forward, Marshall grabbed the sink tighter but it wasn't enough. His hand raised up and hit the mirror, bracing himself against the wall helped in pushing back on every thrust. The thrusts shook his whole body.

Their moaning drowned out the sounds from the hallway. Marshall only realized this, when the bathroom door opened a crack and the half distant voice of Rufus called: "You found it?"

"Shit!", Ryan hissed behind him flinching away, panic in his voice.

Reflexively Marshall's hand reached back to stop his friend from pulling out. Breathing heavily, his body reacted on autopilot. Not losing the dick in his ass was more important than to not losing his dignity.

"Don't come in!", Ryan called out and his frantic looks around the room reflected in the mirror. He grabbed a nearby towel.

The door stood ajar for a moment. Too long a moment, but not long enough. Marshall's head was blank on what to do. Only option was to stop fucking and scramble to get his pants back on, but nothing in his body could move for this.

The low thud of heavy boots on tiles as the door opened the rest of the way and the intruder stepped in. Nicolas stood in the doorframe, knob in one hand and the other was raised to sign but stunned into silence. Matte black eyes looked at the situation unfolding before him with big surprise.

Marshall's fingers clung tightly onto Ryan, not just to keep his friend in but also in shock of seeing his boyfriend. In shock of presenting himself like this to his motherfucking boyfriend. His heart stopped beating and his body grew cold.

"The fucking hell?", Ryan asked bewildered. "Get the fuck out!", and angrily he threw the towel at the other man.

»What're you doing here?«, Nicolas signed puzzled. »This isn't the bedroom.«

Marshall didn't know what to say. "Uhm …" He didn't know what to think! How could one night go this fucking wrong? The toy, the blowjob, the crying outside, the fighting and now: This! This was possibly one of the most absurd and humiliating situations he had ever found himself in; and that included him beating up a puppet dog on national TV. At least that had been funny in hindsight.

"Get the fuck out!", Ryan repeated, voice raised. "This is fucking occupied, can't you see?"

One hand still put against the mirror for stabilization, Marshall's other hand clutched even tighter on to his friend. There was a line to Ryan's anger he didn't want to cross, when it went from intense but fun to bitter and grim. How could he make this situation better? Taking the hand from his friend's body behind him, Marshall raised it to his chest and drew a circle with his fist: »I'm sorry.«

»You better be, I need to pee«, Nicolas explained and came a few steps in, closing the door with his foot. »You can't just clog the bathroom like this.«

"Hey", Ryan said defensively, "What you think you're doing?"

Nicolas gestured to the toilet, the frown on his face peeved about the obviousness he had to explain.

»You are … I mean, this is … I don't …«, Marshall tried to sign, but he couldn't come up with the words to say, neither in ASL nor in English. Was that everything Nicolas had to say about this? That he needed to pee? Marshall - his fucking boyfriend - had somebody else's dick stuck in his ass and his bladder was what Nicolas was concerned about?

"Go somewhere else, we're busy", and Ryan emphasized his words by thrusting into Marshall again. His big hands grabbed Marshall's hips tight not just to fuck into him better, but the fingers spread out on the body with a possessive feel to them.

Marshall moaned through gritted teeth. "Fuck", he muttered gasping. How could he make this okay? Maybe if he invited Nicolas to join in? His mouth was still empty and his boyfriend really seemed to enjoy his blowjobs. He sucked in his bottom lip between his teeth, the thought delighted him. Feeling Nicolas's pulse on his tongue right now, wrapping his lips around the hot, hard dick and swallowing cum down his throat certainly would make this better for Marshall.

"The fuck are you doing?", Ryan exclaimed again and turned to the side, slipping out of Marshall.

Who whimpered desperate. "Don't", he muttered and reached behind him to grab his friend again, to get his big, black, beautiful dick back inside him again. "Just, fuck me", he pleaded and looked over his shoulder to his friend, but also his boyfriend.

Nicolas stood by the toilet and opened the lid. Briefly he flipped Ryan off.

"Just a sec", Ryan said to Marshall, but his eyes were trained on Nicolas. "I gotta throw this asshole out first, aight." He reached down to pull up his pants.

"No", Marshall shook his head, the cold feeling of Nicolas leaving him for this and the cold feeling of being empty blended together. He wanted - needed a dick inside him, needed to not feel empty and alone, needed somebody to be with him. Didn't Nicolas want him to be happy and enjoy life? Didn't Ryan know him best and what he wanted? Then why weren't they burying their dicks in his hole and fucking him? "Fuck me, now." He stretched his ass out for Ryan to take it again.

A big hand stroked over Marshall's lower back. "You need me that bad, huh?", Ryan asked amused and prideful.

There was a tremble in his body and Marshall squeezed his eyes shut. An annoyed huff. "Fuck, yes, goddamnit. Now get your dick inside me or I do it myself."

"Hear that, deaf boy?", Ryan asked with a big, bragging grin. "He loves my dick." With a hard, smooth motion he pushed his dick inside the needy ass again, grunting.

A loud moan came from Marshall and his body shuddered under the thrust. "Fuck, yes", he gasped relieved and pleased. If now Nicolas would shove his dick into Marshall's mouth, then this night could be much of a success still. Maybe the two could put their bickering to good use and fight it out like this, winner was whoever made Marshall cum first? Sounded like a good plan to him. With half-lid eyes he looked over to his boyfriend. Index and middle finger pointing down he asked Nicolas to join, trusting that the man would understand even if he only signed half of it.

Cocking his head, Nicolas just looked at him for a moment. Then he stepped back from the toilet and over to him. Firmly, he gripped Marshall's jaw as he liked to do, fingertips dug into the cheeks and pried the mouth open with force. This wrung a sluggish but excited sound out of it. »You want to blow me?«, he signed with his other hand.

The grip was so tight, Marshall could barely nod.

"Hey, take your hands off of him." Ryan's hand swatted at Nicolas. "He's mine now, fucking son of a bitch." Again, he thrust hard into Marshall's ass, showing off how much this needy body was his now.

Another groan was ripped from Marshall's throat, loud and clear in the room with his mouth forced open.

But Nicolas shook his head. Leaning close to Marshall's ear he said, "Slut", enunciating clearly every sound of the word.

From his ear a wave of heat spread throughout his body Marshall couldn't defend against. Heat and pleasure washed over him, his stomach coiled in on itself and his pulse throbbed in his own hard dick. A high-pitched moaning gasp escaped his mouth.

"Hey! Don't fucking call him that!", Ryan called out and shoved Nicolas's shoulder.

When Nicolas swayed to the side briefly because of this, he also pulled Marshall's head with him. A sharp pain in Marshall's neck, his body tried to follow but the sink was in the way.

Instead of directing him to the dick Marshall ought to be sucking, Nicolas put an innocent kiss on the pink, swollen lips. The grip loosened and turned into fingers softly stroking the flushed cheeks. Again, he shook his head, the answer to the earlier plea. No, Nicolas would not join in and would not fuck Marshall's face.

Marshall bit down on his lower lip, sucking it in and kneading it with his teeth. What did this mean? Wasn't he good enough? Did Nicolas hate him now? Was he too much? Didn't Nicolas like his blowjobs anymore? Wasn't he an adorable slut anymore? Did Nicolas regret their relationship now?

Unreflecting black eyes looked at him with unexpected softness. A rough thumb caressed Marshall's lips and released them from the kneading teeth. »It's okay, Kitten«, he signed reassuringly, »Another time I will join you, but not tonight.«

Marshall nodded slightly and exhaled a little shaky as another harsh thrust took his ass over. Ryan's angry words he didn't hear, they didn't matter. Nicolas's hands mattered.

»You want him and he wants you, you're allowed to live that out unfettered. We have a whole new year in front of us and I want you to be my adorable slut for every single night. Do you understand?« Keenly observing Nicolas studied Marshall's face.

Marshall nodded again, stronger and more confident. "Yes, I do", he answered and his voice was a little raspy but present. He and Nicolas were more than just sex, they were good for each other.

A smile flitted across Nicolas's face. »Good, then be a good slut now and make me proud, alright?»

Returning the smile, Marshall nodded again. "I will."

»Take care of yourself. Don't let him hurt you the wrong way again.« Another soft, innocent kiss to Marshall's lips.

Ryan grabbed Nicolas by the arm and pulled him away. "Can't you the fuck listen? Get the fuck out! Leave him the fuck alone, you fucking prick, he's mine!"

The hectic movements passed through the dick in his ass and Marshall groaned again. A lustful tremor shook his body.

In a gesture of surrender Nicolas raised his hands and actually stepped away from them, backing up to the door. "Enjoy", he said with his deep voice and with big steps he left the bathroom.

"Oh, I am enjoying him!", Ryan barked after him.

But the door was already closed. Marshall shook his head. "He can't hear you", his own voice was thin.

"Fucking asshole", Ryan muttered pissed, his fingers dug tightly and angrily into Marshall's flesh and his nails left crescent shaped indentations.

"Forget him", Marshall said with a low voice. Gathering his strength in his arms, he straightened his body up and felt Ryan's muscular chest in his back. An arm reaching behind him, stroking gently over the other's head. "C'mere", he whispered and entangled their lips into a kiss.

Relaxing, Ryan's hands left the pale hips but rather hugged Marshall closer. Fingertips stroking across the trained stomach, teasing the tattooed belly button and climbing up to play with a nipple.

He moaned and pressed himself closer against Ryan's body. Encouragingly, Marshall circled his hips a little, rubbing his ass cheeks against the body behind him, grinding the dick deeper into himself. "Come", his voice was still small, "Didn't you want to fuck him out of me?"

A grunt. Ryan stepped back - the dick leaving his hole made Marshall whimper pleadingly again - and with a strong grip around Marshall's arms, he pulled him against the wall. Heated, he pressed his lips on Marshall's and pressed their bodies against each other, hard dicks rubbing between their stomachs. "I am fucking him out of you", he growled determined, "And then you'll leave that little shit. Even he knows I fuck you better." Their lips crushed into each other again, a hot tongue ravished Marshall's mouth.

Marshall hummed in approval and his hands held on to the other's shoulders, trying not to drown in this vehemence.

Big hands spread over Marshall's thighs, gripping tightly to raise and wrap them around Ryan's hips. But unsuccessful. The jeans still hung on Marshall's ankles and bound them together. "Fuck." Distracted by their heated kiss Ryan reached down to push against the shoes, but they wouldn't budge. "Come", and he pulled him off the wall again.

Marshall sighed a little bummed out, the wall in his back had felt good. Steady. The idea of wrapping his limbs around the strong body in front of him was very tempting.

But Ryan seemed to have a different idea as he closed the toilet seat again. "Get your ass high."

Marshall smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Only if you make him high." But of course he bent down, propped his arms up on the seat and showed off his ass.

"He won't know where his head gonna be at", Ryan promised. His big hands cupped the cheeks and kneaded them with relish. Then he pushed his dick inside again unceremoniously.

Groaning, Marshall held on to the edge of the seat, hands in a tight grip and his head fell forward. Each harsh thrust made him moan and his own voice grew strange, raspy and throaty. His body trembled and had nothing to push against, but was rocked back and forth by every thrust of the big dick into his hole. It was full and stretched open how it was supposed to be, its existence only made sense when somebody else's pulse filled it completely. Heat took over his blood, swirling inside him like a maelstrom.

The rhythm grew fast, but the thrusts didn't lose their harshness. Their bodies slammed against each other, skin wet from sweat. "You love my cock", Ryan grunted and panted, "Don't you? You love it."

Marshall nodded, his moans loud and his body shook with each thrust. Lust was clouding his mind.

"Say it", Ryan demanded, "How much you love my cock."

His throat was dry. "I lo-ahh-", his moans interrupted him. The dick took his hole apart and that was all that filled his mind. "I love it", he panted, "Your dick, I love it." As he loved every dick that filled his hole and made lust overflow his veins.

A satisfied grunt. "I'm close. You gonna …", the rest drowned in more moans and more thrusts.

It didn't take much for Marshall to cum, only a few strokes from his hand and his own dick spewed its load, muscles tensing, body trembling, voice crying out. His hole was full with the big, black, beautiful dick he loved so much, thrusting unwaveringly into him and hitting the spot that made his whole body arch with pleasure. Even less stable than before, he couldn't prop himself up on the toilet lid any longer and his knees buckled as a warning. But Ryan wasn't done yet and Marshall held his ass high for him, panting and moaning and shaking.

Until the dick left his hole empty and alone. "No", he whimpered breathless and tried to look over his shoulder, but he couldn't.

"Turn around", Ryan said, panting. He removed the condom, stroking his dick.

Marshall did, confused in his haze. "What-?" His arms only barely propped him up on the closed toilet seat, almost sliding off. His half naked chest heaved rapidly with shallow breaths, the white t-shirt was bunched and rolled up high around it.

White splutter hit Marshall's stomach, which twitched with unexpectedness. Ryan was groaning in satisfaction, head cocked back and eyes closed.

Sliding down, Marshall came to sit on the cold tiled floor. He closed his eyes wincing, but his body was relieved to just sit and lean back. His panting almost loud enough that he couldn't hear his heart race against his ribs. Limbs weak.

A low, breathless chuckle. "You look positively fucked out", Ryan said with a smug grin.

"Fuck off", but Marshall couldn't put any strength into his voice.

Ryan discarded the condom in the little trash can nearby. "I'm just calling it how I see it." He fluffed his t-shirt a little, but decided that wasn't enough and took a towel to wipe some of the sweaty stickiness off his body.

Marshall closed his eyes and laid his head back, immediately he jerked forward again. He didn't just … "Ugh", he muttered to himself and patted the back of his head, feeling something wet. Craning his head back, he saw his own cum spread on the toilet lid exactly where he had wanted to put his head down.

Another chuckle. Ryan threw the towel towards Marshall and hit him in the face with it. "Here, you need it."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed", Marshall muttered sarcastic and rubbed the back of his head with it.

"That's what I'm here for", Ryan answered amused. Closing his pants again he asked: "You good? I probably should head back before the guys wonder where I been."

Marshall hummed agreeing, "Sure, whatever." He put the towel down on the lid and finally rested his head back. "Just need a minute."

"Cool." Ryan stepped to the sink and washed his hands and face briefly.

Taking a few deep breaths, Marshall could feel coming together again. His body cooled down, which raised goosebumps on his lower back. A sour grumble. He wanted to pull his t-shirt down but Ryan's jizz was in the way of that, and Marshall's head was in the way of wiping it down with the towel. So, goosebumps it was.

When Ryan opened the door, he turned to Marshall and flashed him a smile. "Happy New Year's, Sunny." Then he was gone.


	56. Come Take My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's - Part 4  
Marshall needs a minute to collect himself, the minute drags on. But Nicolas is there to help him, but he also states his disapproval about the situation.

Marshall stared at the closed door. The wooden panel was white, a stark contrast to the dark grey tiles on the floor. He sighed loudly and leaned his head back again. "Yeah, sure, happy New Year's." The ceiling was paneled with white wood, fancy but conceited. It laughed about him lying in his own cum, a classy move on his part, and about him celebrating the new year with his old failures, also a classy move. This all a snobby way to hold before him what a lowlife he was, disrespecting a marriage he cheered for and in their home no less. Such a classy move.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing these thoughts away. Of course it was obvious where this line of thinking would lead to and Marshall had no desire to cry again tonight. Once was more than enough. If he just focused on getting clean and on collecting enough strength to go back to his friends, he would be just fine.

His head felt heavy as he lifted it off the towel and with another sigh he just let it fall back again. He needed another minute. Rather than arguing with the ceiling again, he closed his eyes. Darkness was better than judgment. _Oh, I can judge you on my own just fine, slut. How about: You turn your fucking boyfriend off so bad, he refused to fuck your face? That's pretty damming, fag._ Fuck. Marshall groaned annoyed by himself. That was pretty damming, wasn't it. But, hadn't Nicolas said another time? Sure, he could've said this purely to stop Marshall from crying, but he didn't really seem like that type of person. Although, he was regularly too nice to Marshall, that was close enough.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. It was totally fair for Nicolas to not want a threesome with Ryan, that didn't need to have much to do with Marshall and his appeal. The two clearly, obviously didn't like each other - which was Marshall's fault, admittedly, but this didn't need to mean he turned his boyfriend off. Maybe it just meant his boyfriend didn't want to deal with the jealousy, to that Marshall could relate.

Or worse, his cheating was turning his boyfriend off. There was a difference between tolerating his failures and actively engaging with them. In all their talks about an open relationship Nicolas hadn't once said anything about joining Marshall's escapades. On the contrary, hadn't he even specifically said he didn't want to be a part of this? Why did he think inviting Nicolas would be a good idea? _Because your mouth needed a dick._ If Nicolas could have his wish, he'd want Marshall for himself. But the choices were either no Marshall or to share Marshall and for now, Nicolas had made his choice.

Nicolas wanted to be with him.

"Ugh", he growled to himself and lifted his head up, still felt heavy but he needed to move. He picked up the towel and wiped his stomach clean, but his arm moved sluggishly. What he really needed was sleep. Now able to roll his t-shirt down and to pull his briefs up, he started to feel a little more like a human again. Lying on a bathroom floor next to the toilet all naked and covered in cum wasn't really great humaning. _It's what sluts do best. It's been a while, glad you're finding your form again. It's so much more fun this way._ Unfortunately, this was much more fun.

Marshall sighed again, kneading the towel between his fingers. How did it come this far again? Hadn't he sworn off this lifestyle? If one could call this a life or a style, Marshall doubted both. The only thing this was, was shameful. That Ryan fucked him like this made everything worse, they should be friends and he should respect their marriage, but with somebody else it was equally as disgraceful. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!", he cursed out loud, voice hoarse. His fist hit down on his thighs, not with much strength and this made him more angry.

If he just hadn't come here …

But he knew better. This wasn't the fault of tonight, but his alone. Even without anything to celebrate this could and would happen, because it already had happened a couple weeks ago, a few months ago, years ago. Always.

On the floor of a stranger's bathroom it had all started. How had Ryan described him? Young, dumb and full of cum.

Marshall pressed the towel against his face. A feeble attempt to stop himself from crying and to stop himself from hearing his screams. His body was gently rocking back and forth. Memories flooded his brain: The chill of the bathroom became the coldness of a winter night long ago. The dark gray tiles and white wood panels morphed into dirty yellow tiles top to bottom, urinals hung from the wall and stall doors stood open. Somebody else's cum on his tongue and on his clothes and in his hair. Male voices complimenting his _cute little mouth_ and his _crafty little tongue_. Everything was little back then, he had been. Mom forbade him to go out on school nights, of course he did it anyway. He wasn't good at school, but he was good at this. Surely, Victor would like him now, at least as much as they did. Practicing on bananas and practicing on the real thing, Victor had to like him now. He was good.

A shiver. A sob. He didn't want to be cold and alone. Why hadn't he been enough? Why hadn't Victor liked him? Not even enough to finish it. If he had died that night, maybe he wouldn't be this way. Maybe he wouldn't lie on a bathroom floor with cum in his hair. Maybe he wouldn't fuck a friend and destroy three relationships at the same time. Maybe he wouldn't fail as a husband and a father …

Marshall shook his head. His daughters were the best.

The door opened. Slow Marshall raised his head, his vision was blurry from the old memories but the black, gray, pale blob looked awfully suspicious like Nicolas. Rough hands cupped his face, definitely Nicolas. Marshall blinked the blurriness away and every sharp line of his boyfriend's face showed worry. Strong arms around his shoulders pressed him against the muscular chest and the warm body. Gladly Marshall reached his hand out and stroked over the warm skin and felt its many tiny scars underneath his fingertips. Good that the buttons broke.

Marshall pressed himself closer, needed to feel more but his t-shirt was in the way. Why were clothes always in the way? Erratic he pulled at his collar, needing this fucking thing off of him, but it fought back.

Rough hands pushed down on his arms softly, stopping his efforts.

Marshall looked up but only saw worry. "Please." He needed more, this wasn't enough. He didn't want to be cold and alone.

A sigh, then a nod and Nicolas lifted up the hem of the t-shirt. As Marshall stretched his arms out, Nicolas pulled the piece of clothing off and without much further thought it lay on the floor. Rushing, Marshall pushed the gray shirt off of Nicolas's shoulders, needing more still. Nicolas helped with this, too. Finally! Without any hindrance, his hands could stroke across the warm, scarred skin and Marshall pressed his body close against his boyfriend. His face buried in the crook of Nicolas's neck. Strong arms hugged him, enveloping him in his boyfriend's warmth. A hand softly petting his head.

Second by second calm trickled over him. The need still there but disappearing into a whisper he didn't have to listen to. The memories vanished back into the vastness of time, unimportant now when new, brighter memories were forming. The self-loathing grew small with every strong heartbeat in his boyfriend's chest, the pulse of somebody who liked him. In an ideal world his failings wouldn't exist, but this world wasn't ideal and so his life would always be accentuated by failure.

"Kitten?", the dark voice asked, fingertips softly massaging his neck.

Marshall nodded lightly.

With gentle pressure the hands raised Marshall's head and Nicolas's eyes darted over his face. "You okay?"

Again, Marshall nodded lightly.

But Nicolas looked at him still searching.

Marshall dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

Thin lips kissed his forehead. "It's alright. I'm here."

He held on to his boyfriend's shoulders tightly, their skin touching all over. Nicolas just radiated warmth, the presence reassuring and grounding.

"You called me Buttons", the words were slow, the vowels just a little too long.

Marshall bit his lower lip. "Dunno, was funny."

"Keep it." Hands still caressing Marshall's neck and back.

An agreeing hum. Kitten and Buttons, he could get used to this. A small grin as he thought back to the moment in the kitchen, the high-pitched scream and the shock. Who would've thought Nicolas got spooked because of some buttons. So silly.

A kiss to his forehead. "I told you to be careful", Nicolas explained in a strict tone.

"Uh, I used a condom", Marshall defended puzzled and pointed to the nearby trash can.

Nicolas shook his head, the sigh sounded weary. "This happens too often."

Marshall cocked his head. "You said, it's okay. That it ain't cheating when it's open." Was he regretting his own suggestion? Marshall would understand. He should've restrained himself until their relationship was stronger, until their second chance was more firmly established - but he just couldn't. He bit his lips again. How often had his therapist stretched the importance of apologies? He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I asked you to join in, that was stupid of me." Clearly this was more wrong than cheating on Nicolas.

Again, Nicolas shook his head. Withdrawing a hand from Marshall's back he signed: »I'm talking about this«, gesturing at Marshall's kneeling figure, »Crashing like this. You need to look after yourself better. Sex gets you really high, but that also means the drop is sharper, doesn't it. You have to be cognizant of that.«

"What?", Marshall frowned. "I ain't high, I haven't been high in a long time. I'm sober, if you remember." For more than two years now and he was really proud of himself for that. Most days weren't easy, but with every new day it was getting more worth it.

»Why's your first response always denial?«

Marshall pressed his lips together, staring at his boyfriend through slitted eyes. He wasn't denying anything! "Fuck off", but he didn't mean it.

Another kiss to his forehead and Nicolas withdrew the other hand from Marshall's neck to sign better. »For someone who makes sex his priority, you care very little about the details.«

"So?", Marshall shrugged with his shoulders. "Sex is sex, it doesn't really matter."

»Because your need is stronger?«, Nicolas asked.

Marshall looked away again, rubbing his neck ashamed. Of all the people, he didn't want Nicolas to know this. How he lost control too easily had never made him friends.

Fondly Nicolas petted the shortly cropped hair. »I don't think sex is the only thing you need. If you want to be held afterwards, you should have someone there to hold you. That's also a need, even if it doesn't feel as urgent.«

"I don't need to be cuddled", Marshall muttered. His boyfriend shouldn't think of him as weak. Especially not Nicolas, the man didn't date weak people.

With an intent gaze Nicolas studied Marshall's face. »I like to be held every once in a while«, he confessed. »It doesn't make you less, it makes you human. We're social animals, we need each other. Isolation is a method of torture for a reason, you know.«

"You would know about that, wouldn't you." Marshall would not have expected for his boyfriend to like cuddling, but more that he endured it whenever Marshall had to give in.

Nicolas nodded with a serious expression. »I do.«

Unsure how to take this, Marshall drew his forehead into a frown. Did Nicolas torture other people? Or had Nicolas been tortured in the past? Was it much of a difference?

»Maybe there's something else that comforts you after sex, or when you feel down in general, but you should ensure that you have it.« Nicolas stood up and helped Marshall up as well, helped him to sit on the closed toilet seat.

Marshall made sure, the towel lay there first. "I don't need comfort after sex, I just remembered something is all. Most things in my past are pretty shitty, it don't mean nothing."

»You get swept away by sex easily, right?«, Nicolas asked. »It's sexy as fuck to watch that, like as if … as if you feel passion with every fiber of your being. It's captivating. But probably that also means you get swept away by the aftermath just as easily. That as intensely as you feel the highs of sex, you probably feel the lows of sex just as much.« He cocked his head with question.

As an answer Marshall only shrugged. What was there to say? Yes, sex often was pretty intense for him, which was one of the great things about it. And yes, he felt his depressive moments intensely as well, which was one of the things therapy was for. But those two things weren't related. Could they?

Nicolas walked over to the sink. Two small cabinets hung to the sides of the mirror, he opened both of them in search of something. He took a cup out of them and rinsed it a few times before he filled it with water. The filled cup he gave to Marshall.

Who sipped from it.

Leaning against the nearby wall, Nicolas signed again: »Sex can be much like a fight. It's thrilling and exciting when you're doing it, but afterwards there's exhaustion both physically and mentally, emotionally. When your blood stops rushing, when the adrenaline stops flowing, you feel drained and wrecked. When I lie in bed after a fight, after the Doc had to patch me up again, I often feel like … that it be better if he just didn't, if he just let me die this once. It just hurts, everything hurts. My body won't move and every muscle shivers from overexertion and sometimes … Sometimes I'm not clear on where I am or when or how, but I can feel the blood on my hands, it's warm and sticky. I feel how I cut life from a body.« Black eyes rested on Marshall with a calm gravity to them. No light escaped them. »I know it will pass, but the moment still feels quite horrible. And it passes over quicker when the cat purrs next to me, or when Nina holds my hand.«

Marshall grabbed the cup harder. "You really like cats, hm", he said with a quiet voice, not knowing what else to say. The words felt true, like they were taken right out of his soul, as if Nicolas could see all the little, naked details about him. But also his heart ached for his boyfriend that he knew such a cursed feeling and where that feeling came from, that Nicolas killed people and it weight him down in some way. Probably good that he wasn't as cold as he sometimes seemed, but there was pain coming with that.

»I know you're a strong person, that's precisely why you need to take care of yourself. You can only be strong when you know how to create balance in yourself. You're only as strong as the support you accept. We can't do all the things by ourselves, and we're not supposed to.« For a short moment, Nicolas touched the dog tags hanging from his neck. »I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for the help of others. I wouldn't have led this life, if it weren't for the actions of others. And the same goes for you, doesn't it? You love your daughters so much and work so hard for their benefit, but you wouldn't have them if it wasn't for their mother. You wouldn't have your career and the fame and money that come with it, if not for someone else to believe in you and support you, for millions of people to love you. Going smaller, I don't think sex feels the same to you if you only do it by yourself. We aren't build to be alone and we aren't build to be strong by ourselves.«

Marshall took another sip of his water, intently watching Nicolas sign. A slight nod. If it wasn't for Dre, Marshall wouldn't be here either. If it wasn't for DeShaun, he might've never come this far. As much pain as the relationship with Kim had caused, he was eternally grateful to be a father and see these three little lives flourish. The more it hurt to be a failure.

»I'm the strongest when I fight to protect«, Nicolas continued, »I don't have much opportunity for that because I don't care for many people. It's tempting to close yourself off to the world, to never admit anguish or frailty, to never trust someone … But loneliness breaks you. It broke me before I knew the word, before I knew that this feeling isn't supposed to be constant. The first time I acted without an order, I acted for someone else - for someone who saw me as a person, not a weapon.« The shadows underneath Nicolas's eyes hid it well, but there was softness in the lines of his face. »You want the same, you want to be seen as a person. But you don't treat yourself that way. A person sometimes feels like shit and like crying and frustrated and doubtful and unworthy, but a person also leans on others to build themselves up again, to receive love and hope and happiness.« Nicolas chuckled for a second, shaking his head about himself. »I read too much. What I'm trying to say is, you need to treat yourself better. You need to take care of yourself, especially when you're going to continue this way of life. The higher you fly, the deeper you fall. You need to make yourself cushions and parachutes to avert these crashes. And you have to insist on them.« Nicolas pushed himself off the wall and stepped toward Marshall, knelt before him. »It's your life, so these are your decisions. All I want is for you to be careful and safe.«

A smallish smile settled on Marshall's lips, he had heard those words before. "I know." Not just what Nicolas wished for him, but also that working together with another person could accomplish great feats. At least for music it did. Wasn't it different to show people your sensitive side, though? But he already did, had written about the pain the relationship to Kim and his mother had caused him and about the hole DeShaun's death had ripped into him, about the unwavering love for his daughters and all the good, the bad and the ugly fame had brought into his life. He shared some of his innermost feelings not just with the people closest to him, but with everyone around the world who was willing to listen. He stood on stages rapping and screaming some of the most private thoughts he had into a microphone for everyone to sing along. How was it worse to admit to a friend when he felt broken? Or that maybe he could need a hug every once in a while? Why was it worse to tell Ryan that Marshall didn't always appreciate being treated like this? Disposable, Nicolas had called it earlier, a fitting description.

»I don't like one-night stands«, Nicolas started again, kneeling in front of Marshall. »I don't know what they're thinking or feeling or when they're lying. I can't read them well but I need to if I want to enjoy good sex. I can be rough and demanding, without some form of pain or pressure I hardly know how to enjoy anything. Like I said, even a snowball fight I like to see through to the death.« A smirk. »But I don't want to damage when I have sex with someone, so I need to know where their limits are and I need to trust that they tell me if I go too far. To do that with a stranger is hard. That's why I don't do one-night stands often.«

Marshall frowned but nodded. "Makes sense." Less so why he was telling Marshall all these things. Not everyone needed to be as much into one-night stands as he was, most people probably weren't.

Nicolas mirrored the nod. »But when I do, I need to be clear with what I want and what I don't want. I have to insist on some things that are important to me, because the other person can't magically know. And you will have to learn to do that as well.«

There it was. "You didn't make anything clear when we hooked up the first time", Marshall retorted. "You still don't make things clear."

»You don't listen anyway«, Nicolas answered with a shrug. »And I did text you what was important to me. It's not always all of the things. I wanted to feel another person, that I can do vanilla just fine.«

Marshall cocked his head skeptical. "So? I don't get what this has to do with me." More accurately, he didn't want to know. It sounded kind of deep and quite embarrassing.

Unimpressed Nicolas returned the skeptical look.

A sigh. "What you suggest?", Marshall asked.

»For starters, ensure that there's someone with you afterwards. You …«, a brief shrug, »You need people around you to feel good, solitude doesn't seem to be much your thing. People are different this way. So that if something happens, somebody can look after you and comfort you. Maybe nothing much happens in the first place when you aren't alone afterwards, when you can't get lost in your thoughts afterwards.«

Pressing his lips against Nicolas's forehead, Marshall sighed out of his nose. The huff blew into the spiky black hair. The words were true again, Marshall got lost in his thoughts too often too much. When he wrote a song this was a good habit and made his lyrics better, made him focus on tiny details and what he wanted to evoke with his music. But at other times of the day this wasn't good anymore. On the contrary, this was exactly how the satisfying exhaustion had turned into a sad memory just now, his thoughts always reminding him of the bad, failing person he was and analyzing every detail of his life as proof. Would the presence of another person have stopped it? If Ryan had stayed with him and maybe joked around with him until Marshall's legs were working again, would his thoughts have left him alone? And if they hadn't, would Ryan have hugged him as Nicolas had? That seemed to help. It had helped the night of the photo, his thoughts dragging him deep but Nicolas had reached out to keep him afloat. Perhaps not enough, but every little bit helped. "That ain't what one-night stands are about, you know."

Nicolas nodded agreeing.

"I need to go home." He pushed himself off the lid and onto his feet, his knees stiff and his hole bitching like expected. The cup was put aside and Marshall closed his jeans, put his t-shirt back on.

His boyfriend stood up as well, watching his every move with concern. »Promise me, you think about this«, he asked.

"Yeah, yeah", Marshall answered, not at all meaning it. Didn't he have enough on his plate already? Trying to rein in his cheating habits was too hard, but he needed to manage anyway.

Skeptical Nicolas looked at him, standing right before Marshall and hindering his exit of the bathroom. Hands casually buried in his pockets.

Marshall sighed. "Fine", he gave in, "If I got some time on my hands, I'ma think about it. Happy?"

Nicolas shook his head lightly, but stepped aside. Probably he believed Marshall as little as Marshall believed himself.

With slow, tired steps he left the bathroom and made the short distance to the front door. He put on his winter jacket and left, Nicolas close behind him. They walked over to the car, the night air was still filled with fireworks and the excitement of celebration. Marshall didn't feel it. His car beeped open.

»Can I drive you home?«, Nicolas offered. »You look tired.«

But Marshall declined shaking his head. "I can drive myself, no worries." He wasn't so much tired as just exhausted and down. Nothing that impeded his driving, so he got into his car.

Nicolas held the door open. »Get home safely, Kitten.«

A smile tugged at the corners of Marshall's mouth. "You, too … Buttons", it felt weird in a good way. Then he started the engine and closed the door. Driving off Ryan's driveway he let out another sigh.

This new year started as shitty as the last had ended. Awesome.


	57. I Swore To Make The Gray Skies End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall has another therapy session. The doctor has been thinking over the holidays and has a few suggestions to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I'm not a psychologist, all of this is for dramatic purposes only.

The sun shone brightly through the blinds and painted stripes on the floor and on one of the walls, even the desk was grazed by the light. Except for the potted plant on the windowsill the room was empty of life not him. Above the couch hung a piece of wood with a dreamlike landscape burned into it: A stretch of grass and forest was rolling in on itself, clouds following the curve like waves crashing. Only a moment, she had said.

Marshall sat on the couch and kneaded his lower lip between his fingers, waiting for the door to open. Usually he wouldn't mind a little delay, maybe take out his notebook and use the bit of time to write or he might listen to a song. Music was never far away. His life was often busy and stressful, so he understood that sometimes things just came up unexpectedly. But not today. Today he had things on his mind, so many things. Where should he start? With the nonsense that was their open relationship? Marshall had agreed to it, probably out of similar reasons as Nicolas had: anything was better than nothing. Didn't mean he was convinced of it. Also, the whole therapy sex thing Nicolas had put on him didn't feel okay. He was sure, she had an opinion on that. Or should he start with the threesome dream? Everything about it was wrong, yet tempting. The most concerning was how this was his first reaction to a break-up. Why couldn't he do shit normal? Should he tell her how he talked to himself as if DeShaun was still alive? That couldn't be healthy. Not a pressing matter. There was value in going to the beginning and see how things unfolded, so you were able to see the future with the knowledge of the past. Often it was easier to talk your way back, events only moments ago more present than what happened weeks ago. There was probably a lot to unpack about New Year's.

The door opened, she stepped through. "I apologize again, some people don't know how to wait their turn."

"No biggie", he made a dismissive hand gesture. Unexpectedness was part of life, unfortunately. He sat himself up straight, ready for their session. This would be a taxing session he suspected, but he was ready to work hard.

For a second she went to her desk and took a notebook out of one of its drawers before she took her seat across from him in the chair. Her smile was kind as usual. The notebook sat open on her lap, words written on the pages. "So, are you ready to start?", she asked.

Marshall nodded confident, "Yeah, I'm prepared and everything, even did my homework." Although he wasn't sure it would bring them forward he had completed it: What did he think about sex with strangers? That it was fun and exciting, that it was easy and fuss-free, that it was a little like being on stage.

"Very good", she praised with a sincere tone in her voice. "But we can ease into it: How have your holidays been?"

"Full and a little complicated", he answered and shrugged briefly, a gesture to minimize the impact the last few weeks have had. He knew better. "I mean, baking with the girls was fun and all that, but a lot been happening. I've been feeling … overwhelmed lately. I don't like that." _Oh girl, you getting back on that dick train, that's all this is. You belong on a dick, you're just slow at building a schedule. Organizing ain't your strong suit._

"Because Nicolas broke up with you?", she asked and her voice was full with understanding and compassion. It was easy to believe she honestly cared. "I received your message."

He knew that. She had been calling him a few times afterward but he hadn't picked up. It was often easier to avoid things, though that wasn't a solution. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to call you, just … I was angry and didn't know where to put it."

"No worries", she assured him. How she dealt with people being unjustly angry at her, he would never understand. "Do you want to talk about it? Where did you put your anger in the end?"

"I went home", he said with a weak smirk on his lips and a small sense of pride to have made the right decision that night. Just barely, but he counted it. "Probably thanks to you. Could've been much worse pretty easily." This was a good start. That night or what that night could've been was a good example of what was wrong with him, wasn't it? "We're back together, though, so … All's well that ends well?" It was hard to get the right words out.

A thoughtful nod. "I'm glad to hear that. Nicolas seems to do you good, it's nice that you could mend it."

Marshall leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking down on his hands nervously fidgeting with each other. "Yeah, maybe …", it certainly was nice but that wasn't important now. "That night I - I would've put my anger into sex", he explained hesitantly. "I called a couple people to hang out, very much with the expectation to have sex later. I even dreamed of it, I … A part of it was spite, I guess, like if he don't want me others surely will, that if I'm single again I should enjoy its perks again. That sorta thing."

"Well", a thoughtful syllable carefully weighted her options, "You often act in a defiant manner, that is part of your personality, so it's not really a surprise. You did similar things in your relationship with Kim as well. It's not always a bad reaction, but it's also not always a good one. The impulse is easily understandable and nothing to fret over. You said, you went home in the end, that was probably the best thing to do. Why didn't you follow your impulses?"

"I was shocked by myself", he said with a quiet voice, his fingertips pressed into the backs of his hands. "That I tried to get back at him so underhanded, that I wanted to use my friends for that, that … that I liked Nicolas more than I thought." He pressed his knuckles against the bridge of his nose, fingers still interwoven. "That I use sex to paint over shit. I was really hurt and angry and probably disappointed, I don't know. Just, I had all these bad feelings and instead of handling them like an adult, I would've painted them over with sex. As if a threesome could make them go away. That ain't what you do."

"No, not really", she agreed, but there wasn't judgement in her voice, only support. "Feelings are there to be felt and to realize how a given situation affects you. A break-up hurts of course and to feel pain isn't seen as a value anymore these days, nevertheless it is worth to engage with that pain or with the anger. With a break-up, you feel them for rightful reasons because of the affections that came before and the hopes of a future that now doesn't exist anymore. It's sad and it's okay to let yourself feel that."

Marshall nodded lightly, he knew. When they had started therapy, one of the first conversations had been about grief, DeShaun gone for too long already but always fresh on his mind. The death of a relationship was probably similar in a lot of ways to the death of a person. "I rather have sex than engage with my feelings", which was a bad realization to have and a bad reason to have sex for. If he'd had the strength back then to leave his house, he would've probably done something like this in the wake of DeShaun's …

"A good way to deal with this might be mindfulness", she suggested and wrote a few words into her notebook. "By stepping back and examining yourself, you can avoid knee-jerk reactions like this. It's a way to realize what you're doing and to dis-engage from it. It's about not judging a given moment or feeling, but accepting its existence and then you can respond to it with a clear mind instead of an impulse."

Marshall frowned skeptical. "Sounds a bit flimsy", he confessed his doubts. Her explanation made some sense to him, but just being mindful didn't sound strong enough of a thing to work. _How 'bout a reward system, slut? Every time you're mindful, you get to suck a dick. I'm sure that'll teach you fast._

"It's a technique, not more and not less", she explained calm and patient. "I've seen it improve the lives of people and I think it would improve yours as well. You're the kind of person who often reacts first and asks questions later-"

"Or never", he had to admit.

She nodded softly, "Or never. It's similar to the calming exercises we practiced, that when you feel overwhelmed, you take a step back and gather yourself. Mindfulness goes a little further than that. It could help with this and also with your situation with Kim, that when you have to face her again and a fight threatens to break out, you might dis-engage from that as well and find a more productive way to deal with the given moment."

A huge improvement if he could make that happen. "If it works, sure." He was here to change and to get better, he was open to try just about anything. Her he trusted to come up with good ideas, regardless when it sounded silly to him.

"Great", she smiled at him. "I prepared you some material for practice at home. There are many different ways to practice mindfulness, so there's not really a wrong way to do it, but I put together an approach I think suits you best. And since I know you like to figure out puzzles and that a lesson sticks with you better if you can discover it on your own, I'd like for you to try and see if you can go by the instructions I set up. You're welcome to experiment and change the approach to your liking. We will check in next time on how this worked out and we can adjust then whatever is necessary. Does that sound workable to you?"

"Yeah, sounds good." He learned more by doing things himself, always had. Observing someone and then going by trial and error to replicate the process by himself, that stuck in his brain the best. One reason he had sucked in school so bad, there was never enough time to try a new thing out. Luckily, those days were long gone.

She made another little note in her book. "Also", she stretched, "I think we have other things to talk about that will need more of our time today. When I heard your message, I was assuming you and Nicolas might've broken up because you followed my advice to talk to him about your unfaithfulness. Is that what happened or was there a different reason?"

"Nope, that's pretty much what happened. I just didn't do a good job of talking to him." Not a surprise if Marshall was asked, he was really bad at talking to people, it was very different from rapping. For one, you couldn't write it out beforehand, huge advantage for rapping. "I couldn't understand - and I still can't - how he's okay with it. I cheated on him and he doesn't mind, it's … I'd be furious if he did that to me. It feels like he doesn't care, but I know he does." A realization he was believing a little more each day, Nicolas cared quite a lot about him but he showed it in very different ways to what Marshall was used to. Sometimes it didn't feel real and with the open relationship it somehow didn't feel right. Perhaps, probably this was the only way for them to be together, for anyone to be with him. Bashful Marshall rubbed his neck. "He, uhm … He suggested an open relationship, that's kinda where we're at now. I know it's weird, but he made a lot of good points, so."

"Huh, an open relationship?", she asked a little surprised and weighed her head thinking. "That does make a lot of sense. When you take out the expectation of exclusivity that then takes away some of the stress you're under. I can see that working." A long look at him, then she said: "But you don't seem particularly thrilled about this?"

"I ain't." _It's so perfect! You fuck around like the slut you are and when your pussy needs to cuddle, instead of annoying everyone you got your boo. You should've done this years ago, homo._

"Why not?", she asked, "It seems to be a good solution to your problem. It's not like you cheat on him out of malice, but more so because, for the time being, it's how you deal with life in a certain way. It's good that he can accept that about you."

She put a way better light on this than he had expected her to. "Maybe", he begrudgingly agreed, "But it's not a real relationship, is it. How can we be together if I cheat on him every chance I get? That ain't right." And it was his fault.

"It doesn't need to be right, if it feels good", she explained with certainty in her voice. "Does it feel good to you?"

Marshall leaned back away from her, arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. He didn't want to answer, he hated the answer. "But I shouldn't put him through this shit."

Expectantly she looked at him, waiting for his answer.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, the couch curved against his neck. "Yes", he admitted. As stirring as the night of New Years's had been, having Nicolas and Ryan around him at the same time, switching between them play with him, the idea of having sex with both of them - together even, it all felt fucking awesome. "Very." He wasn't built to be with only one person.

A quiet hum as if she had seen something interesting. "Does that mean, you already used the openness of your relationship?"

"Yes", he admitted again. "With Ryan at New Year's. He had a party and Nicolas and I went."

"I see", she sounded unsurprised, "Perhaps you need to give it some time. Change can be hard to accept, especially if it goes contrary to something we always believed in. As far as I know, you always believed in monogamous relationships as the only worthwhile model and that your self-flagellation about your cheating habits was justified. It stands to reason that changing this view now will need a little bit of time." Her voice was steady, her body sat comfortable in the chair, her demeanor easily accepting his new reality.

Maybe she was right and he needed more time. Maybe he was right and it was wrong. How much did it matter? If this was the only way for him to be in a relationship at all, then … "Can this work out?", he asked. He didn't want to fuck this up and sometimes it felt like he wasn't, but mostly he was sure he already had.

"It can", she answered immediately and confidently, "Like for any good relationship, here too, communication and attention are key. You need to talk with your partner and care for them."

His hands rubbed over his face. "I try, but it's fucking hard", Marshall lamented. "I don't … I don't know what to say, most of it is pretty horrible when you look at it in daylight."

"In a way", her voice was soft and she leaned forward to offer her presence as comfort, "Humans bond through pain more than through shared happiness. It needs a lot of trust to make yourself vulnerable to someone else and seeing someone we care about in a state of hurt makes us want to protect them. But that's not all communication means."

He looked at her with question. What more was there to talk about?

"It's not only about sharing your past or the lingering pain we're working through here, but also your wishes and hopes for the future, your feelings for him good and bad, the little annoyances and the little quirks you find endearing. It's about letting him know, how you view the world, what believes you have about life and about humanity, which values you live by, to share your deepest held fears but also the depth of happiness you can experience, to let him know what a perfect day for you would be and how a worst day feels and how your normal probably differs from his. It's about listening when he shares intimate details with you and to accept his opinions and experiences, regardless if you can believe them or not. Communication means to grow together as a couple."

Didn't they already do some of these things? Talking about how their relationship could look like was sharing their wishes for the future. Letting Nicolas know what bad thoughts he sometimes had when he called himself a slut and worse, was sharing some of his fears. Not shutting up about his daughters was sharing his happiness. Nicolas cherished his flaws so openly, accepting Marshall without doubts - something Marshall tried to give back. He couldn't believe that Nicolas was okay with being cheated on, but he tried to accept it and their new arrangement. Even their nicknames were a part of this, encapsulating some of their quirks into words of endearment. He smiled shyly that this time he was doing some of the things better than in the past. "But is that enough? I mean, open relationships ain't they more fragile?" How often was too much?

"They can have it harder at times, if the people involved aren't honest about their motivations. For example, I once knew a couple, he suggested an open relationship but she wasn't really into it, they agreed to try it anyway. He had his fun with some women but she didn't try much at first because she couldn't see herself being with somebody else than him. Eventually she found a someone who she liked and could try this out with, but he reacted angrily and hurt and accused her of cheating. If he had been honest about his motivations, that he wanted to sleep with other women but wanted her to remain exclusive with him, he should've said so."

"Because you can't have that, right, it should be equal. If he sleeps around, she has to be allowed that, too." What one partner was allowed to do, the other partner should be allowed as well. A relationship couldn't work if it was weighted unfairly. Marshall dreaded that day already.

She shook her head slightly, "Not necessarily. It's of course invaluable and important for the partners to be equal, but that doesn't mean they need to do the same things in the same way. On the contrary, that can make things more unequal. Humans are different and complex, our wishes and needs differ from person to person. What is good for you, might not be good for your partner and what they wish for, might not be good for you. Equality isn't about doing everything the same, but to give everyone the opportunity to achieve similar levels of happiness or fulfillment or independence or whatever it is you're trying to achieve. Equality is for everyone to be able to go down their respective paths to achieve their goals and a good relationship means that you help each other along the way."

"That's a nuanced take", Marshall muttered in response. In a way he knew this to be true and practiced it with his daughters. They were very different people at very different stages in their lives and because of this what support, education and parenting they needed wasn't the same. Lainy was almost an adult and needed to learn to stand on her own, she needed support to find a career or purpose for her life beyond school. On the other hand Whitney was still a child, she didn't need to worry about her future yet, but some rules needed to be stricter to mold her understanding of the world.

There was a warm smile on her face. "That comes with the job. I don't know what you two agreed on and it might change in the future, but open relationships look very different from partnership to partnership. It's very much based in the individuals involved, there's not one right way to do it."

He nodded accepting, thinking on how Nicolas had emphasized that they themselves needed to form the rules to their relationship. "Still, don't they break more often? I mean, jealousy and shit don't go away just because you will it so." _You're just an insecure shit. Suck a dick, that'll take care of all unnecessary thinking. Don't think, doesn't do you any good, slut._

"True", she agreed, "Just because you laid out that sex with other people is in some shape or form okay for your relationship, doesn't mean people don't feel jealousy or hurt anymore. That still can happen, especially if they don't feel cared for anymore, perhaps neglected even. That hurts in every type of relationship. It's where communication comes in: You have to communicate what everyone's wants and needs are and how they can be met, and also when they change."

Of course an open relationship wasn't an excuse to be a bad boyfriend, that would've been too easy. You still had to make an effort, not just in the beginning but always. "That's the hard part." Marshall wasn't always sure what he wanted or if it was what he needed. Actually, he suspected to mostly want things that turned out to be bad for him, that's how his life had always been. But even if he knew, how could he say it out loud? He didn't want to be too much for Nicolas.

"But it can also give you greater freedom and deeper understanding." She brushed a lock behind her ear. "You can find expression of yourself as your own person independent of your partner, not just sexually but as a whole. You can of course find this with your partner as well, if you so choose, but there's value in doing so by yourself. It helps to solidify who you are, so that you can bring yourself to the partnership fully and dedicated. It's healthy to have a sense of self that doesn't rely on your partner and your relationship to them, and for some people an open relationship gives them more freedom to experiment with themselves and to uncover hidden corners of their personality. Other people can find similar things in a monogamous relationship or in polyamorous partnerships or with a platonic partner or they don't want and need a partner at all. Again, humans are complex and differ to each other."

"Is that so?", he asked skeptical. "I didn't know there were so many options." Most of his life he had assumed a girlfriend was the only right thing and accepting that a boyfriend was okay as well seemed already like a big step. But there was even more?

"It's rarely taught in school, which is a shame", she explained, "A lot of pain could be avoided, if people knew what options are out there. It's not always obvious which is the right path for yourself and it can change over time, but just knowing there's something else you can try if the current situation doesn't work too well gives a sense of comfort. Similar to knowing what sexual orientations are possible and that they're all valid can help ease some of the pain and confusion that comes with being a teenager and discovering this side of life."

"Amen to that." Quick thought: Should he have a conversation about this with his daughters, too? Of course they had talked about homosexuality at some point, partly because he regularly was in the news for being homophobic when he wasn't and he wanted to make sure is daughters weren't. But also because he wanted to assure them he would love them however they would live their lives including their romances. They should never fear he would hate them because of who they were - that wasn't in his bones, he would always love them and support them. That he had feared the other way around had more to do with himself than with them and that it was unwarranted he had mostly known. Fear just was stronger than knowledge.

She took a sip from her glass of water. "And if done right, an open relationship forces you to engage with all aspects of your relationship and your partner. You should, of course, aspire to this in any type of relationship, but in a monogamous one people often fall into the idea that sex equals love. Which can lead to a whole host of problems when the sex life changes over the course of a relationship and also if it doesn't. It can also be a problem when it doesn't do the same for each of the persons involved. You need to find ways to express love and adoration and trust and honesty and everything in ways that aren't just sex, ways that are meaningful to you and your partner specifically. An open relationship done right forces this, and by experimenting with yourself it gives you an enriched perspective on how you can express yourself and how you want to receive those things."

_Experimenting with yourself? I know what that means. How 'bout we make that threesome come true? That'll be a nice experiment, fag. _Marshall cocked his head in question. "You sound a bit like a fan." She was surprisingly positive about this topic. Sure, she was always fairly positive and found a silver lining to just about everything he did, but this sounded a little different.

A warm and modest smile colored her face. "Probably because I live in an open relationship myself and am quite happy with it. It's been more than six years now, so I can personally assure you, they do work if you put the work into them."

"Really?", he asked surprised. "Wow, I didn't see that coming. You're always so … proper."

"A loving and trusting relationship is always proper", she replied with an amused smirk. "Doesn't mean it has to be conventional as in a Christian monogamous relationship. Humans are complex, one model cannot work for everyone."

"Huh, would you look at that." She wasn't really the picture he had in mind when he imagined someone in an open relationship, not someone who was professional, candid and smart like her. Just went to show you never knew.

She looked at him openly. "Do you have questions about this? It can be helpful when trying something new to know that other people were successful before."

"I don't know, seems private", he hesitated. They rarely talked about her, after all it wasn't really what they were here for.

"It is, but so are a lot of the things you're telling me. Humans learn from each other's experiences and my experiences certainly do matter when I treat my patients. Regardless if I share them or not."

"How so?", he asked. "Ain't empathy and all your books enough?" What had her life to do with anything? Hearing an example of an open relationship work out that was a little comforting, admittedly, but it didn't need to be hers.

For the moment she closed her notebook. "Those are very important tools, no question. But life is, I can't stress this enough, complex and what we experience doesn't happen in a bubble and doesn't affect us by itself, but it all connects together."

He shrugged briefly. "So? Ain't we here to work on me? I mean, if you got problems yourself, I couldn't help you anyway." He was a rapper, he had very little to offer for someone else's crises. If he had, he probably would be a lot better at dealing with his own.

"It's not about problems, just about experiences", she tried to explain. For a second she was silent, thinking of how to phrase her point properly. "For example, losing a child is very tragic and sad, a therapist who's also a parent might be able to empathize in a more meaningful way than a therapist who's not. Becoming a parent changes your perspective in ways hard to grasp when you haven't been there."

Briefly Marshall nodded his agreement, knowing this from his own life. Often he had taken care of his brother more like a parent because their mother was unable to and when they had taken Nate away, it had broken his heart. But still it been so different when he had held Hailie in his arms for the first time, his little baby breathing her first breaths and being a little angel just by existing. He'd do anything for her and he meant it. It was still a wonder to him how you could love one little person so much, it seemed impossible. She was his North Star and there was no life without her.

"A person having a miscarriage is tragic and sad as well", she went on with her example, "It can be hard to grasp the experience and gravity of having your child die inside of you. The sense of loss and guilt can be deeply tied to your self-image this way, the effects on yourself and your relationships with your partner and other children can be deep as well. Your whole world view might change because you can't cope with this deeply personal experience. A therapist who doesn't have kids or one who hasn't been pregnant might underestimate the scope of the impact, just because they haven't experienced themselves how a child can change you."

Marshall swallowed hard. It was difficult to imagine how that must feel like, but he guessed awful was a good start. "I get that", he answered in a quiet voice, "Probably ain't easy to hear those types of stories on a daily basis." In comparison his problems seemed small and less important.

"Some are more intense than others", she answered, "But everyone has their struggles, it's not a contest." Her fingertips drummed against the cover of her notebook. "Or as a different example, transgender people can face a unique kind of recurring trauma in our culture and a therapist might perpetuate that if experiences and training aren't sufficient."

He frowned for a second. "Aren't therapists supposed to make it better, not worse?" Before he had come here, he had tried a few others and found them not helpful or that he couldn't open up to them. Sometimes, you just didn't like a person. But none had made his pain worse.

A warm smile. "That is the general idea, yes, sadly it doesn't mean it always comes to fruition. In our culture there's a lot of emphasize on gender roles and conforming to them one way or another. Therapist's internalize this as much as anyone else. If they sit in front of a patient who's perceived gender and actual gender don't match well or at all, that can lead to problems. Perhaps the therapist uses the wrong pronoun or name by accident and to a cis person that's not a big deal, but to a trans person it can be. An honest mistake is often easy to forgive and a trans person might slip up themselves occasionally because of how ingrained our culture is into us - but if the therapist glosses over this or dismisses the distress this can cause, he's doing more harm than good. For some trans people it feels like the outside means to call an entirely different person, as if they aren't seen as who they are at all. It's sometimes used as a weapon against them, to belittle them and take away their dignity. For a cis person it can be hard to imagine what this feels like. A therapist who hasn't had experience with this before will have a steep learning curve before the patient can be treated effectively and correctly."

"Huh", Marshall cocked his head curious, "People can be pretty cruel to each other, can't they." You could turn just about anything into an insult, he would know. Not just doing it in his own songs, but also from his childhood. He was a little glad this particular bullet hadn't hit him back then, had he been seen in a dress as a kid things would've turned out much worse for sure.

"Indeed, not always on purpose." She looked at him for a moment, maybe pondering if to continue this conversation or not. "Let's say for example, a trans man is very interested in fashion. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, regardless your gender fashion can be fascinating. If this trans man finds a particular dress fashionable because it just is - and let's face it, clothes intended for women are often more colorful and elaborate - but if he likes it, this wouldn't negate his transness nor his masculinity. All it would be is a sign of good taste. But a therapist without the experience or training to check their gender biases might tell this trans man to not wear this or any dress ever again, because in our culture men just don't do that. Perhaps they give the trans man the false choice of either conforming to a macho-like masculinity, one that is afraid of its feelings and femininity and obsessed with strength and aggression - or for the trans man to stay a woman instead. It's hopefully clear that would be very bad advice, not just for a trans person but for any person. On the other hand, someone who's had experience with transgender people and differing gender expressions before might be able to handle this situation more gracefully and productive, guiding this trans man into an authentic expression of himself and giving him the tools to cope with the sometimes strict boundaries our culture sets up."

Marshall only gave a short hum. That example hit too close to home. _That example hits bull's eye._

"And in this way, my experiences certainly matter", she ended her list of examples. "The one I've had can be useful to garner empathy, to maybe see connections I would otherwise miss or to give my patients a feeling of safety that I will understand where others couldn't. And the experiences I did not have I have to be cognizant of and tread carefully, I have to educate myself and I need to be honest so my patients can make the best decisions for themselves."

"I never thought about that", Marshall confessed. "I just assumed you all get some sorta empathy training and that's that."

She smiled amused. "If it only was that easy. Therapists are humans, too, we have faults and biases, bad days and other frustrations. Our personalities, believes and life experiences inform as just as much as they do any other human. On top of that, medicine and psychology are always changing, there's always new things to study, new connections do be discovered, old ways of thinking need to be discarded regularly. I find it best to address this openly. I don't have all the answers and maybe I'm overlooking something because it hasn't been mentioned in a study yet or maybe because I haven't had enough experience to think of it. My tools are education and an open mind, this can only reach so far, which makes it so important for us to work together. You can and certainly should question my personal experiences to assure yourself that you will be understood and to uncover where I need to do more. We can only work on what we're aware of."

"Hm", he stretched the thoughtful noise a little. "If that's so, then … Why're you in an open relationship? It ain't 'cause you can't stop cheating, right." Then, she would know what his problem was and had already fixed him. But he was still broken.

"Correct, that's not the reason." Briefly her pinkie brushed over her wedding ring, or what he had always assumed was her wedding ring. "My husband isn't a sexual person. He doesn't really need it and it's not of much interest to him. By itself, this is fine. In a relationship with a sexual person though, it can present a bit of a challenge."

"Not a sexual person?", Marshall asked puzzled. "That would drive me crazy, for sure." How could a person live like that? A life without sex or just kissing and hugging for that matter, he couldn't imagine and it didn't sound like it was worth trying. Humans definitely were different sometimes.

She smirked a little, "It's one of those things that you either know yourself or it's hard to understand. Goes the other way around as well, he can see some enjoyment in sex but how that can be a powerful force sometimes is beyond him. Which can be a challenge for a relationship and it certainly was for ours. It often felt like a chore to him or it wasn't enough for me and it put a big strain on our relationship. Otherwise we were and still are great together, all other aspects of our relationship are strong and enjoyable and everything, if only the sex weren't in the way. So we decided to take it out of the equation in a sense. Of course there was some trial and error about how this can work for us, but it's been going quite well for years now."

Turned out, he might be lucky with her as his therapist in a number of ways. Not just because she was good at her job and he had easily grown to trust her, but this was a nice coincidence. "Can I ask how you do it?" It was hard to build a relationship normal, but one that was strong enough to not break under the constant onslaught of his cheating seemed impossible. Perhaps Nicolas was one of the few people who'd be able to do it, but that could only account for so much. What was Marshall's role in all of this?

"What you mean exactly?", she asked.

"Like, are there any rules or something?", he tried to clarify, "I mean, Nicolas suggested we should do it without any rules and just see what happens. That when something bad happens, we find a rule for it then. That feels like a ticking time bomb to me, you know. I don't want to wait for something bad to happen, what if it's too bad to recover from?" _Only rule you need is to get your ass open when someone asks. You're still a little slow with that, slut. That your age showing?_

In an understanding gesture she nodded softly, "That's a valid fear to have. I would assume, Nicolas's thinking might go along the lines of: You don't need to fear what you don't know. The relationship between the two of you is still new, there's a lot you both don't know about each other yet and specifically there's a lot about your sex life and how you engage with it that he doesn't know yet. For the moment, accepting you means to accept these unknowns as well, so he might feel like he has to give you all this freedom. But you don't need to wait for something bad to happen to decide on any rules, you just need to know each other and each other's needs better. If you know one of your or his needs already, you can certainly factor them into the openness of your relationship." She opened her notebook again to make a quick scribble. "In regards to my own relationship, we decided that a one-night stand every once in a while is acceptable. It's important to both of us that I go to my husband first and see if he wants to engage in some physical intimacy and we certainly found ways to enjoy that. It's important to show that I value him and his affections and he has to be certain that he's my priority. It's a way to secure that we stay emotionally close when physical closeness isn't our way to show it. In my experience, this is very important to develop and to nurture and I'd advise you to work on this with Nicolas, if you aren't already."

Were they? Perhaps it would happen as subtle as anything else had, like the trust and intimacy that had build between them over the last couple months. It had grown fast but unnoticed. Marshall had no idea were this or the well of affection was coming from, he just knew it was here and their sex had very little to do with it.

She went on to say, "It might feel a little weird for you in the beginning, after all you seem to put a lot of yourself into sexual activity and to express yourself that way. But it will enhance the relationship for both of you, if you find ways to express and receive intimacy and attachment through various means. Also, it's probably save to assume that some of your emotional needs haven't been met well in the past and this can be a good opportunity to uncover them."

Marshall huffed briefly. She had a knack to make anything sound sensible and logical. "But how's your husband not jealous when you go to somebody else for something he should be giving you?"

"He knows his own limitations and accepts them." She stroked a lock behind her ear. "It's important to accept yourself and your partner as the people you are, instead of putting blame on each other or yourself for why things aren't different. If sex turns into a chore for him, that doesn't help anybody; and if I grow unsatisfied and bored, that doesn't help anybody either. Partnerships are about supporting each other to live the best life together, sometimes that means doing something without one another. As long as we are certain about the love and trust between us, we are okay."

"Oh, wait", Marshall interrupted flustered and slid to the edge of the couch, "I'm just realizing this, but it ain't fair in yours either. You go out and have sex with some guy or whatever - but he doesn't." The kind of arrangement he wished for himself, but in the end it was unfair and he couldn't do this to Nicolas. He put his boyfriend through enough already, he didn't need to make it worse.

"Yes, that's what it means", she agreed a little amused by his flurry. "It's more by accident though. His nature makes it unlikely that he'll be interested in one-night stands."

"But you would be okay with that?", he asked.

"I think so. As long as I feel like his priority, like he values me and the intimacy between us more, I would be okay with it", she answered honestly.

Marshall shook his head sure. "See, I wouldn't. I get angry just thinking about it. I'm not okay with him or anyone cheating on me. It's the worst." Too painful and the trust was hard to rebuild.

"It's a shift in perspective", and she made a rotating gesture with her hand. "Like I said, it probably needs a bit more time to accept this new idea. You frame it as cheating, so you fundamentally think about this in terms of a strictly monogamous relationship. Let it sink in that this isn't one anymore and try to find other ways to express your partnership, maybe this lessens on its own when you find more confidence in what you and Nicolas have."

"I hope so", he muttered. _You should find a way to get his dick in your ass, homo. Why's that not working? You can suck him off just fine, can't be hard to get your ass on it, too. Don't wait until he gets bored with you, slut, then it'll be too late._

"And if not", she offered, "If you still feel the same way, first you should certainly tell him, but second we might be able to do something about it if you want."

Marshall cocked his head. "Why? How? What?"

"Strong jealousy isn't the best response in a relationship and can be damaging sometimes. Perhaps you want to address this in the future", she explained and as so often gave him the choice. "We could examine the reasons you feel this way. Jealousy is often tied to one's self-image and you already have a propensity to see yourself as unworthy in some form. Our work on your self-image might reduce this to some extant already. We'll see."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Because humans are complex? And working on one thing is working on all the things?"

"Exactly", she agreed with a pleased smile.

"Great", he muttered sarcastic. "Then you'll love this. I did your homework, right?"

"I was coming to that."

"Yeah", he shook his head, "Ain't really interesting. It's fun, end of story. But turns out, that's the wrong question to ask."

"Oh?", she asked surprised, "What you mean by that?"

"I mean", Marshall took a deep breath first. This was it, the heart of their session today and he was pretty sure it was the heart of his problem. "I mean, I like sex with strangers or with people I know, it doesn't matter much. Both have their perks and both have their drawbacks, it's a bit different but largely the same to me. The people aren't the important difference, the sex itself is."

She wrote a few words into her notebook. "I see you thought about this hard that you're able to shift the scope. Since you know yourself and your sexual habits best, you have more insight here, it's very helpful that you use it. I'm guessing, the real question to ask then has to do with the sex itself?"

He nodded to confirm her suspicion: "Yeah, why it's sometimes good and sometimes bad."

"Sometimes good and sometimes bad?" she repeated and looked at him with a pensive frown. "You probably don't mean the rather normal differences in quality. There's a lot that goes into sex, so unavoidably there's a lot why it's sometimes more and sometimes less satisfying."

Marshall shrugged, "I don't really know how to explain it, but sometimes sex is just fun and great or not so great but everything's okay and normal, right, but other times it's … I need it, plain and simple. I don't want it, I need it and I can't get enough. It's everything."

"Sounds demanding. And that is the bad side?", she checked to be sure.

"Yeah, really bad, especially afterwards." He scratched his cheek shyly. "Nicolas thinks it's 'cause I don't cuddle enough but I don't know. It feels like there's something else going on."

An encouraging smile was in her eyes. "We will get to the bottom of this. Can you give me an example how this looks like? How this need, as you say, manifests itself and what you do with it?"

"I rather not", he admitted and with a sigh grabbed one of the pillows decorating the couch, but he had come here today prepared to tell her and to work on this. Whatever it was needed to stop, he needed to change his ways. He needed her help and about that she was right: She couldn't read his mind, so he had to talk and give her as much detail as he could. Didn't mean it was a fun, so he pressed the pillow closer to his chest and started his answer: "Well, on New Year's we went to Ryan's party, right? I expected a little something to happen, I mean it's Ryan, it's bound to happen. That's alright, you know, sex with him is pretty great and everything. I'm okay with that, like …", he shrugged briefly. _You love it, slut. That's what you've been born to do. Forget rapping, fucking is where it's at._ "I like to have sex with people and I don't really want to change this. It's a thrill and fulfilling and … and even if we get this need under control, I don't think I'll change that. I don't want to, I just - I just want more control over myself, you know. And on New Year's, at first I had everything under control. That Ryan wanted to play a little and with the toy and all that, I was okay with that and it was fun, right, to pepper a few sexy things throughout the night is cool - kinda makes the party better even. So, the first little things with him was absolutely fine. And the little thing with Nicolas - or more the try of something, whatever - was also okay, very much so. He's pretty hot, it's a shame nothing came of that in the end. So, like, most of the night was pretty much okay with all the sexy things sprinkled throughout, pretty awesome, but later … A fight broke out, you know. Ryan's a bit - nah, he's a jealous asshole sometimes and Nicolas has not much patience for that and I don't either, I don't need this shit, you know what I'm sayin'? Ryan knows I cheat a lot, if he can't handle that, he should leave me alone; and I mean he has a wife, ain't like he has any right to play a saint here or whatever. But-", another sigh. He had thought a while on how to phrase this, but he still wasn't sure he had found the right words. "But, even when we fight I want to fuck him. And that's okay in general, right, that you like someone doesn't just go away 'cause you fight with them, you make up with them and everything's okay again. But it's different to that, you know. The same with Kim back in the day, when we fought it made things … better? That's not really the word. With Ryan it was … I was angry and it kinda makes me want him more, in a way? It's weird, I know. And one thing let to another and we're in the bathroom fucking, everything that night let to this exact moment and I can't even say when it switched from being okay and normal sex to … to this need. I just know, when Nicolas came in and interrupted us by accident - I mean, we're in a bathroom, people use that sometimes for not sex related stuff - but when he came in, I couldn't stop. I knew I should have, but I didn't want to and I couldn't move like that anyway. Ryan trying to interrupt the sex or cover us up or to throw Nicolas out, I couldn't deal with that and I couldn't let it happen and I … I mean, Nicolas is my fucking boyfriend, I should fucking care when he catches me like that. And in some ways I do, but not enough to stop. And even if it been somebody else, I should've had some modicum of decency to stop for a second and be embarrassed or something, but no, I rather keep fucking. I-" He buried his face into the pillow, muffling his voice. It was important to say this and for her to know all the details, but he couldn't look at her. _Pussy! Be proud of your slutty hole, ain't many blessed with one._ "I even begged for it. I needed it so bad I … Ryan wanted to throw Nicolas out of the room - understandable, right? - but I wouldn't let him. I needed his fucking dick inside me so bad and when it wasn't I felt like … I felt empty and alone and desperate and all I could think about was getting that dick back inside me and … and it didn't matter that my fucking boyfriend was standing right there, or it mattered only for me to ask him to join in. 'Cause what's better that one dick inside me, it's two. All I wanted … What I needed was getting my holes stuffed, how or by who didn't matter. It never does. It - it sometimes feels like living without air would be easier. I'm so focused on sex that nothing else matters and … and I sometimes do stuff I wouldn't normally do and I go with any random person, sometimes I think it's a miracle I'm still alive … It's like my body is on autopilot to get this need satisfied but it's never enough and - and sometimes it's so bad that it hurts but I keep going anyway because it's not enough and I can't … I don't know how to stop. All I know is, when the sex is over I … I'm alone and cold …" A quiver made his body twitch. "It's the worst feeling in the world. It's like … I feel all this hate towards me and it's justified, that I'm the worst and what I've just done is an example of many, that … that I'm a depraved creature, not even human, that I don't deserve to be a human the way I use others, the way I revel in getting fucked into pieces … and I'm so cold, like deep inside me I'm freezing and dying and lonely …" He couldn't bear this any longer. In the past alcohol and drugs had painted over this feeling until he could get back into the swirl of heat and passion that felt so amazing. But it only made him more out of control, disguised anything into a good idea and his body was always willing to try everything, his mind too clouded. Without drugs these moments were a lot harder, but his life was better sober and he had to protect it.

"Marshall?", her soft voice asked, "Do you want to take a moment?"

He shook his head, face still pressed into the pillow. It had never gotten better from waiting. How much longer would he need to wait? He was almost forty and nothing had changed, only for the worse. It was getting worse again, his life slowly spiraling out of control and he saw it but couldn't do nothing to stop it. This needed to stop. "Just do something", he asked but wasn't sure his voice could be heard beyond the fabric of the pillow. He needed help.

"We will", she promised, "I'm here to help you, Marshall. I will help you."

With a shy nod he looked up from the pillow. "'Kay", he said with a low voice. He believed her, but he wasn't convinced he could be helped at all.

"It will take time, but there are ways to help you and to make your life better. It's good to have hope. Asking for help can already give you a bit of hope. That Nicolas accepts you and stays with you is also a reason to have hope. There is a way for you to live well."

He nodded again, stronger this time. "Okay", he repeated and he believed she could find a way to help him.

She smiled softly, encouragingly at him. "Your example is full of details we should go through. There's a lot in there and we need to see what all of this means and how the different details connect to each other. But perhaps that would be a bit much right now?"

"I came here to sort this out", he answered with a little shrug, still hugging the pillow close to his chest.

"I know, but this isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. I don't think it would be beneficial for us to go further than you can handle at the moment." There was caution in her demeanor.

Marshall frowned.

"That's not to say, there isn't other stuff for us to do", she reassured him. "I dug through my books, as you like to say, and there are some things I want to introduce to you. As I said earlier, we can only work on what we're aware of and I think we uncovered something very important in your life here that you didn't share with me before." A short, appeasing gesture, "Which is normal to happen. It's impossible to tell all the important things from the start, especially if they are this personal and deep. But it means that we now have more pieces to the puzzle to work with than we had before."

Marshall frowned a little more. "What do you mean? What you want to introduce to me?" _Nothing fun for sure. I ain't seen a Kama Sutra lying around here, which is a shame. Always wanted to give that a peek._

"I'd like to share with you my suspicions about what might be going on here. Of course I can't say anything definitive from the small handful of examples you've given me, but it might be enough for us to decide on a route to take this in. So as for us to make it easier to find out what this is. It's easier to work with a checklist and compare that to your experiences as to try it the other way around."

Slowly Marshall nodded, seeing sense in her words. "Like a roadmap, probably keeps you away from one-ways when you know which way to take."

"Similar", she agreed, "We would know a general direction and some stops on the way, but it will be important to veer from the path a little bit to make sure we don't overlook something important."

"Okay, sounds like a plan." There was comfort in knowing a plan existed, that you had an idea on what to do instead of fumbling through the dark. "What's your suspicion then?"

She turned a few pages back in her notebook, the pages were filled with her handwriting. With a clear, mindful gaze she looked at him while she spoke: "As I told you before, promiscuity and its relatives are being studied. Official diagnoses are a little vague at the moment, however, we can call it hypersexuality for now. _Hyper_ is Greek and means excessive, so it's to say that there's an over-abundance of sexuality in someone or a desire for sexual activity at very high levels." Her words were calm and contemplating, an explanation for him to understand the situation better. "It's hard to know when to call something like sex an illness of some kind or if one should call it that at all. Sex is a wonderful and normal human thing and very complex, an uncareful classification might cause harm. We spoke before about how homosexuality used to be classified as a disease and how that caused a lot of harm for a lot of people. Today we know that there's nothing abnormal or pathological about homosexuality, but that our culture and society branded it as such. That's a very important difference. Because sex is a complicated process, we don't have all the answers yet and that is important to keep in mind. However, we do know that sexual activity can be influenced by a number of factors and some of them can be illness or medication and a myriad of other things, of course. For our purposes, we'll focus on the illness angle. As a symptom hypersexuality describes an extremely frequent sex drive or one that suddenly increases in a significant amount. What extreme means is hard to say and there isn't a way to measure this objectively and there probably can't be. Though if I might venture a guess, your story of the New Year's party or the one you told me last time when you bounced between three different men and some of the stories you told me about how you cheated on Kim - that can be called a high level sex drive. That there is not much care about negative consequences in these stories is also indicative. A part of hypersexuality is that the person engages in sexual activity despite it being detrimental to them in some form. For example, that the loss of a committed relationship is accepted or that despite a want for one it cannot be formed in the first place. This is also where a diagnosis comes into play: If a person is severely negatively affected by their sex drive, help is needed."

Marshall nodded agreeing, "Definitely." That's what he was here for. "So … It's a sex addiction then?" She could call it fancy all day, it still sounded like that anyway.

"Not quite, or more like it's not agreed on", she tried to explain, "An addiction is a very specific thing with specific mechanisms behind it and to put that on sex doesn't necessarily do either of the two things justice and it might not help the person in need. There are other models to explain and treat it, which I think will work better for you. We can always come back to this model, if you feel it explains this best of course."

"Nah, it's okay", he dismissed, "You're the expert."

"And you're the expert about your feelings and experiences. You know what this feels like to you and you also know how addiction feels to you, I can't tell you if it's the same or not, but you could. It's why I want to share my suspicions with you to see if they spark some sort of understanding or recognition in you, that perhaps you see something in your life suddenly connecting to this and sense clicks in to place. Because if the explanation doesn't feel like it makes sense to you, like it doesn't reflect your experiences, then it's not a good explanation and the treatment probably won't work well."

He cocked his head to the side. "Okay? Well … I used drugs to make it feel less horrible but that happened before the addiction kicked in, so whatever that's worth."

A short, understanding nod and she glanced at her notebook again. "We can come back to this after you listened to the rest of what I found out, and maybe we can compare how well each thing fits your experiences then."

He hummed his agreement and kept hugging the pillow. It was soft and warm, he could use that right now. _Pussy. Get your dick out, dance around, make this fun. You're fucking boring, fag._

"The question is, if this hypersexuality is a thing on its own or if it might be connected to something else? Like I said, to call a high sex drive an illness in itself seems wrong, but it's fairly well established to be connected to other things. Since you don't take any medication at the moment, we can rule out the side effect angle. But hypersexuality is a possible symptom of many different illnesses, physical as well as mental, and they would require different approaches and treatments." She looked at him closely, observant. "There could be some form of trauma that causes it. For example, some rape survivors experience hypersexual behavior as a way to reclaim control in sexual situations. It's certainly not limited to that, humans are complex and so are their responses to trauma. From what I know, there has been a lot of distress and pain in your life that could've had the potential to be traumatic. When and how and if at all an experience leads to trauma is very complex and a lot of variables interplay with each other."

"If you're asking if I been raped, it's no", he said a little miffed. "I got into trouble a lot but not that kind of trouble, I ain't a weak girl." _Hahaha! Who're you kiddin'?_

"It has nothing to do with that", she answered calmly. "Things happen outside of our control, that doesn't reflect back on us. It's not the persons fault when violence was done to them, but the fault of whoever forced. It's not necessarily loud either, it can be as simple as a No that's being ignored in an otherwise romantic situation. Sometimes our culture and societal expectations make it hard to accept that a situation was bad and that the feeling of violation we have is justified. For example, it wasn't that long ago that rape between married partners wasn't illegal because it was viewed - and sometimes still is - that this would by definition not be possible, that bodily autonomy ceases to exist when you're in a relationship with someone - which of course is not true. You always stay your own person and your wishes always count, but there certainly can be a lot of pressure when it comes to sex between couples."

"I don't know about that", he tried to avoid the answer. Ryan's apartment came to mind when Ryan ignored his words in their fight and fucked him anyway. Some nights with Kim flashed before him when he couldn't deal with having sex with a woman but she wanted it anyway. It fit the words better than he wanted to and he was sure that was by design. She already knew, didn't she. "But uhm …", he pressed the pillow closer to his chest again, his chin sinking into the fabric as he spoke, "That's not it, you know, I mean … Ugh, don't judge, okay?", he hid his face in the pillow again.

"I won't judge, I promise." She had always held this promise before.

He exhaled into the pillow before he hesitantly answered her question for real. "Probably, technically that did happen in a way … maybe. I mean, it doesn't really feel like it, you know, I wanted it, so it doesn't count, right?" She already knew that he had trouble asserting his own wishes sometimes, that's why she gave this example. But there was something she didn't know and maybe she should. It wasn't the reason for any of this but another example, an important one. "When I was thirteen", he said reluctantly, it was hard to get the words out or into the pillow but he had to, "I wanted to impress my crush with some sex stuff, right, and I wanted to be good at it and so I practiced. Practice makes perfect and in a way it worked, but - first I practiced on my own but later I practiced with the real thing - actual guys, older guys, much older … Technically, that's pretty bad. But I went there on my own and I wanted to do that, I asked to do that. I needed to be good at it and … and …", Marshall swallowed hard, this was the important detail, the one that changed his life - _the one that made your life better, slut._ "And it kinda … clicked? Like as if I found something I been searching for, like as if this was where I belonged and …" Which was bad. He shouldn't have this feeling. He shouldn't feel like being on his knees sucking some dude off was his reason to live. But it did. It always had. "When I was a kid, I used to have these moments - or more like phases when I wanted, needed to be close to somebody, anybody and I would just hug people at random sometimes. And when - when kissing and blowjobs and all that became interesting, it seemed so logical, it made all the sense in the world that this was the feeling I needed."

"Is that so?", she asked with surprise. "There's a lot to unpack here, Marshall."

He sighed again and nodded into the pillow. "I know." If his daughters did anything like this, he would worry and fear for them and hunt down any asshole who was willing to lay a hand on a kid. At thirteen you didn't really know these sorts of things and there was an element of forethought you couldn't expect a kid to have. Good decisions could be hard to come by at that age and whoever in that bathroom stall had agreed to a boy sucking him off should've made the good decision Marshall had been unable to. Some had, most hadn't. As a kid he had connected his pride with that, feeling welcome and wanted but also being able to make someone else happy, that was good. This need inside him had latched on to this new thing, the best way yet to feel the warmth of another person, to find the pleasure and contentment he was starving for.

By now he could see this with the eyes of an adult, with the eyes of a parent. He knew what had happened wasn't good and as much as he wished he'd been a smarter kid with better decisions, it wasn't really regret what he felt.

"We will have to talk about this at some point", she said and interrupted his thoughts. "That probably was a rather impactful time in your life, it might affect your life now quite a lot", and her voice grew soft, "But today we're trying to figure out where to put this need you keep talking about. It sounded, as if at this point in your life it had already been there and that in this situation it found a new outlet. Is that what happened?"

Marshall nodded into the pillow, still not ready to face her after the words he had just spoken. "That's exactly what happened. I - It's been forever ago, I don't remember all that much. I wasn't allowed to do anything, that I remember. Like, I wanted to be close with people and hugging them felt good, but I got grounded for that a lot. I mean I get it, you can't have a kid running around hugging people willy-nilly. That's weird, I get that now - as a kid not so much. I didn't think much of it, you know, people hug each other all the time, I didn't really see why I couldn't. I just wanted to be with people, that ain't wrong, you know. I just … I just wanted to feel good, what's so bad about that?" He lifted his face from the pillow a little and twirled one of the corners between his fingers. "I just liked how it felt, skin on skin. It's warm and close – I needed that sometimes, know what I mean. Not always, just sometimes. When my head got out of control and I had all this energy, it's better to feel someone else then."

"Skin on skin?", she asked. "Does that mean, you would undress for these hugs?"

He cocked his head. "I guess so. Yeah, must've been why I was forbidden to do it, especially outside the house. Mom used to say it was our little secret … In retrospect, that's a weird way to phrase that, isn't it."

She made a few notes in her book. "In your home, were you permitted to hug to your hearts content?"

"Sometimes", a brief shrug, "Whenever mom didn't have a new boyfriend, she didn't mind. But she usually had somebody and of course I was supposed to make a good impression on the guy, not that I tried. My aunt was mostly okay with it, I think." He frowned, trying hard to think back, "I believe she said that I was a sensitive boy and needed more love than other kids. She had fights with my uncle about this a few times and I overheard them, he wasn't a big fan of her babying me like that, I think that's what he called it. He used to say I had to toughen up. He sometimes yelled at me and grounded me, said I couldn't do shit like that."

"What exactly did he mean by that? Do you remember?", she asked with interest.

He let out a puff of air. "That's a tough question, Doc. Exactly? How would I know?" He massaged his templed to think harder, probably not how that worked. "Uhm, when I was seven or so, I remember watching TV with them, I was sitting with my aunt, of course, hugging her and all that. Like I said, she was usually okay with it, not all of it. And, uhm … I think I tried to crawl under her shirt? Maybe? Yeah, I think so. That's when my uncle started yelling and all that crap. He gave me an extra week of grounding, when I said she was very warm and soft. That confused the hell out of me, I never got grounded for a compliment before. So, yeah ... that's exact enough?"

"It will have to do", she said. "I know it can be hard to remember something from that young. It's been a long time ago and memories form a little differently when we're children, so it can be harder to retrieve them when grown up."

"Sorry, Doc." He knew a lot of this hinged on him and what he was able to tell her, sometimes it was hard to put it into words or it was too embarrassing to tell, but sometimes he just didn't remember all that much.

"It's okay, don't worry", she assured him. "We might need to dig deeper into this hugging situation, it can be helpful if you have any old photos or video recordings of that time, that can jog your memory. I assume, you're not particularly eager to talk to your mom?"

"Not really", he agreed, "But I can see if I find some stuff. Most of it is the girls', for sure, but maybe some thing's slipped through. Who knows?" Maybe he could outsource this and send someone to his mom's? She'd probably make it into a scene anyway, that woman had too big a sense for drama.

She smiled pleased. "Try that. We'll focus more on the current situation, but knowing where some behavior started is not to be underestimated." She took another sip of her glass of water. "Are you sure, this need to hug people that you had as a kid is linked to your behavior now?"

"I think so", he nodded with some certainty. "I still like the feel of skin touching skin and this feeling of closeness, of … feeling somebody as myself, that's still there. It feels the same in a way, as far as I remember. It's much better now, but the same. And when I practiced back then, it … yeah, it clicked is the best way to describe it. There was this sense of finally and of … of this is how it should be, you know. That this need for warmth and closeness should get me here."

"Hm, I see", she muttered to herself and stared at her notes for a long moment. "Without any details on how those _practices_ went, I can't be sure, but just by the age gap you implied there's some potential for a traumatic experience. However, if this hugging situation is linked to your hypersexual behavior now, this _practice_ probably isn't a cause - but it could be an accelerator. It's likely that it had an effect on your life."

"I know it wasn't a good thing to do." _Oh come on, you loved every second of it, homo. Sucking dick's your calling._ It had looked like a good idea at the time, but so had an eating contest with his friends which, unsurprisingly, had morphed into a puking contest halfway through. Both things he'd do again.

"We sometimes keep doing stuff, even when we know it's not a good thing." She looked at him knowing, "Isn't that one of the reasons you want me to help you with this?"

He nodded with a deep sigh.

With a pensive tone she said: "There might be more of a connection than you want to admit. Even if not, we probably should have a look at an event like this more closely anyway. But today is more about finding out where we need to look, so we gonna make a note here and move on." She turned a few pages in her notebook. "Because hypersexuality can be linked to other things as well, not just trauma. For example, some conditions of the nervous system have it as a symptom, occasionally in a capacity that they have a lower level of inhibitions like in Alzheimer's. Autism can also be an example, so are other conditions in this realm." She looked up at him with a slight frown on her face. "But I doubt this is the case for you, I haven't seen signs for this so far. I'd be much surprised."

"I hope so", he agreed. Alzheimer's sounded pretty scary to him.

"There are more possibilities still", she went on, "For one, in some literature hypersexuality is classified as part of an obsessive-compulsive disorder."

Marshall cocked his head. "The one where you wash your hands all day and put everything in rectangles and shit like that?" _You, slut, need to put everything into a hole._

She smiled softly. "It can present that way but it doesn't have to. OCD is about the need to perform a certain task repeatedly and without the person having much or any control over it. Or the person has certain thoughts repeatedly and intrusively, even though they know these thoughts to be wrong and unhelpful, but they need to act as if it's true regardless. It becomes a disorder by the intensity and frequency with which the person has to engage in these actions and thoughts. It's an intensive, daily occurrence and affects the person's social and work life in substantial negative ways. The disruption to what we would call normalcy can be quite massive. It is possible for these obsessions and compulsions to be of sexual nature."

_She talkin' 'bout me? I ain't wrong, fag, I'm the most helpful thing around here. Stupid bitch. _"Oh?" That sounded uncomfortably true. "How intense are we talking about here?", he asked his heart beating faster. This sounded a little bit like him, didn't it? His mind could be quite obsessed with sex, with the dicks of the people around him and telling him tales of how they could fuck him to oblivion. His body not under his control and often kept going until he was too exhausted to move, he even flirted with people by accident. But wasn't that just him being a bad boyfriend? He liked to sleep with people, it wasn't always this need of not enough, it sometimes was just him wanting a little bit of sex.

"It's a rather time-consuming thing. A good rule of thumb is about an hour or more each day. There's a significant amount of anxiety or distress caused by this. From what I can see, the amount of distress that you're in would certainly qualify, if it's linked to intrusive thoughts or compulsive actions." She stroked a strain of hair behind her ear. "We talked a little before about the snarky remarks your brain does, the name-calling you engage yourself in sometimes. Is that at all linked to your sexual behavior?"

A slow nod. "In a way, it's often about that, well, mostly about that. But it usually shuts up for a while after sex." One of the benefits of sex. Not the one he cared about the most, but one that was sometimes very important.

"Do you engage in sex for the reason to get rid of these thoughts?", she asked.

"Sometimes", he answered. "If it gets really bad and really loud, yes. It can be the only thing left to do", when he couldn't write his way out of it first. Not that this writing was in any way usable, it was just an attempt to avoid having sex. Occasionally he tried to avoid it, mostly he didn't and mostly not for long.

Her eyes looked at him warmly. "That is also part of it. Often the compulsions a person develops are in response to the intrusive thoughts they have or as a way to put order and control onto the outside world, when the person hasn't much of that in themselves. It doesn't need to be clear cut like this, that an intrusive thought about sex leads to actual sex, it can also lead to other compulsive actions. When a compulsion is a response, it's mostly important that the action alleviates the distress or anxiety, that the situation is made better in some sense or that there can be some form of comfort or validation derived from the action. Again, humans are complex."

Marshall bit his lower lip for a moment, kneading it between his teeth and not saying a word. This sounded a whole lot like him. Often he felt like he had no control over his actions, that he had to do this thing and there was no way around it. Although he knew the thoughts were wrong, they were often stronger and compelled him to do this shit he know he shouldn't be doing. His thoughts were a jumbled mess he knew was untrue and unhelpful, calling himself a fag or a slut, telling himself pervy tales he wasn't necessarily into and in company of people he had no business having sexual thoughts around, repeating over and over hurtful shit until all his feelings became despair and angst and there didn't seem to be a way out. Then he needed to be with somebody else and to feel somebody else - to not feel himself. A dick could knock his thoughts out of his head. "That makes a lot of sense", he finally said.

She agreed with a low hum, "I thought so. We would have to actually test you for it, of course, but this might be a good starting point. There are treatments for OCD to manage the symptoms and behaviors, but it's unlikely to disappear completely."

"So no quick fix, huh?", he asked with a weak smirk. That would've been to good to be true. He didn't have this kind of luck. _Come on, fag, you're the best selling artist of a whole fuckin' decade. You can fuck whatever pussy you want and whatever dick you wanna suck, people line up for that. You living the dream, slut._

"I'm afraid not", she replied with a light smile of her own. "But I'm hopeful that this kind of treatment can help you, even if it turns out to not be OCD after all. Your problem seems to present similar, so chances are similar mechanisms are behind it and therefore this kind of treatment could improve things for you."

"What kind of treatment is that?" He felt a little bit of lift in his chest. This sounded like a plan. Did they have a plan?

"The best way so far seems to be a form of cognitive therapy", she answered. "The most successful approach aims at you being able to tolerate the distress and anxiety that come with certain situations and thought patterns, and that you don't need to perform any relieving actions in order to deal with the distress. In other words you won't need to engage in sex in order to get rid of the intrusive thoughts but instead you would endure them without and often the anxiety decreases on its own because it is ultimately unnecessary anxiety. It's a little how therapy for certain allergies work, if you're familiar with that. One increases the exposure to the distressing cause gradually and the patient builds up tolerance over time."

Marshall frowned skeptical. "I get the idea, but how would we do that? I can't really bring you on when I'm having a one-night stand." _Why not? She's hot for a brainy person, maybe she's a freak in the sack. Still waters run deep and shit like that._ Hadn't he been clear she was off limits? _No one's off limits for you, slut._

"True", she agreed, "But you won't have to. It's less about the actions and more about their causes, so we would first need to figure out what builds up so much distress that you need an outlet like that."

"Hm", he muttered. He wasn't convinced of this. As far as he could tell, there wasn't a reason for this other than to ruin his life. It was mostly successful at that.

She added: "There's also medication available."

He crinkled his nose. If he could help it, he didn't want that. Even if it was a different substance and for his health in the end, just the thought made him nervous. The same way he wasn't an alcoholic but it was still better for him not to drink anyway. "Yeah, no."

"I expected that, but you should still know. We would start with the cognitive therapy and I'm sure the mindfulness practice I suggested earlier will come in handy with this. You can use it as a tool to endure the distress without needing to take action, as a way to detach and dis-engage from the distress. In the end, that's what the therapy is supposed to teach you: That you don't engage with the distress and don't respond with an action."

"Huh", he made an astonished sound. "That fits neatly."

There was a perky smile on her lips. "That's the point."

"Okay, well … Sounds like we have a plan then?" Mindfulness. Who would've thought you could fight against sex this way? _Ugh, this gonna be a disaster, homo. No sex? That ain't a life worth living, period. A slut like you and no sex, what a waste. Kill yourself now._ The bad kind of sex anyway. "But I still gonna like sex, right?"

"Of course", she reassured him immediately. "It's only meant to give you a better response to stress. Any enjoyable time with Nicolas or whoever else you choose to have sex with won't be touched by this. In fact, we won't be touching your sex life at all, only your stress responses."

"Good, good." Would be a shame if he couldn't enjoy sex anymore when they were done. Not the life he wanted and probably worse than his life now.

She looked at him for a moment. "Which can mean, that your sex life might be more enjoyable but not necessarily too different from now. How I understand it, not all the sex with strangers you have is because of this need or these compulsions, correct? You sometimes engage in that because you want to and it's fun for you. This wouldn't be addressed with this treatment."

"Oh …" That put a damper on the uplifting mood he had almost been in. "What do we do against that?" That was the whole reason he wanted her help with this, so he stopped fucking around so much. If all this shit didn't help with that, why were they doing it at all?

"Probably nothing", she suggested, "When we're done, I expect you to have more control over your sex drive, so you should be able to make better decisions and stick to them. But it doesn't do anything to modulate your sex drive as is, or your desire to have sex with different people in general. From what you told me so far, it doesn't necessarily sound like a pathological behavior."

"But it destroys my relationships", he argued. "You said, when it has negative consequences, there should be something done about it."

"And we're doing that", she agreed confidently. "When the treatment is successful, you should be able to make your own rational decisions and stick to them, instead of being at the mercy of your impulses and compulsions. So, you should be able to make the decision that having sex with a stranger is bad for your relationship and thanks to all your work here, you can stick to that and not have sex with that person. But it doesn't mean that you wouldn't have the desire for that anymore. It is very much possible that you will still want to have sex with other people every so often, that might just be the kind of person you are. Like I said to call a high sex drive in itself an illness or bad isn't really a wise thing to do. It's more likely that line of thinking is our culture speaking, not medicine."

He pushed the pillow together harder than was necessary. "So, I'll still be a cheating bastard?" Was there nothing he could do to stop hurting the people around him? He wasn't built to be with only one person, but he didn't want to be alone either. She should be helping him with this, she promised to help.

"Well, you should have more self-control, but therapy doesn't make you into a different person", she explained. Something she had said before.

Marshall let out a frustrated groan. "Great, thanks for nothing I guess." _See, you ain't gonna get rid of me, slut, I'm with you till the end._

"There's one more thing", she added unperturbed by his annoyance.

"What now? If it doesn't stop me from fucking around, I ain't interested." Not that he needed her to tell him this. He already knew this bad, needy kind of sex wasn't all the reason why he cheated on his lovers. A part of him just didn't want to be with only one person, but he couldn't be honest about how big this part was.

"Hypersexuality", she explained, "Is also a recognized symptom of both borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder, they are both often marked by impulsivity and mood swings. There are distinctions between the two that can be hard to see from the outside, so we would need to be extra careful in making anything definitive. But if your hypersexual behavior is a symptom of either of these two things, that would be important to know. It might mean the cognitive therapy is less effective or that a different treatment would be more effective. But there are also other symptoms you might have that would need to be considered and potentially addressed."

Marshall frowned disapproving. "My mom used to say that." Sometimes she had sounded quite proud of herself that she was raising a sick child, completely missing the point of what a good parent was. He had stopped believing her early on.

"Say what?", she asked surprised. "You have been tested for BPD before?"

"She used to drag me to all kinds of doctors, usually 'cause of some bullshit she made up", he explained, "I probably would've been much less of a problem child if she'd been a better mother, no prescriptions needed."

"That's fair", she agreed, "Doesn't necessarily mean she was wrong, though. Parents, even bad ones, are often the first people to notice when their child doesn't behave like anyone else or not like itself anymore. Some do the right thing and go to a professional to find out how to help their child. Some not so much."

He shrugged. "She got me pills that always made me tired and whenever something happened she would blame it on me and say my bipolar was acting up again. Regardless if I did anything or not. So, yeah, I don't put much stock into that."

"Hm", she hummed thoughtful and wrote a few words into her notebook again. "I wouldn't be too quick to dismiss this. Like I said, hypersexuality can be a symptom of both BPD's and so can, for example, depression. As we noted before, you had depressive episodes in the past. There doesn't need to be a link, but there very well could be. And if there is a link, we would need to include that in any therapeutic approach, not just to avoid triggering another one, but also to treat it. For bipolar disorders depressive episodes are by definition part of it and a key symptom. So if you have it, this is likely to recur again and it is best to be prepared for that. On the other hand, borderline disorder often comes with depression but it's not necessary, it's sometimes like a side effect of the actual disorder. In this case, it might be likely a depressive episode comes again, but if we can mitigate the disorder you might not have another one. Borderline disorder can't really be cured, but depression in theory can. So, depending on which you have or if you don't have any, the chances of a depressive episode would need to be addressed differently."

He huffed annoyed that she was right. Of course she was right, she made everything sound logical. "So, I'm bipolar now, for real?", he asked skeptical. Wasn't this a bit much? He could be erratic at times, fine, but that was very different from being sick. "I thought we were treating me for the other thing. Can you even have all that together?" He didn't like that his mother could've been right. He really did not like that.

"Well, just to complicate matters OCD can be a symptom as well, not just a stand-alone illness. Some of these things, like depression, addiction, OCD and others sometimes kind of cluster together. It can be hard to find out, which is which and how they relate to each other."

Marshall sighed. Great, more complications, exactly what he needed. "Fine, whatever. What now, huh? How do we know which is which?" He just wanted things to stop and go back to normal or what he supposed that was. Most of his life hadn't been normal. _Normal sucks ass, fag. Where's the excitement? The thrill? Let's go out tonight and find a dick to plow you down._

She smiled sympathetically at him. "For a lot of people it's trial and error. As I said, the two BPD's are easily confused with each other, so there's a lot of misdiagnosing and therapies not working properly before things are sorted out. I'd like to avoid that with you, but that can and probably will mean we spend time on things we later realize weren't necessary." She closed her notebook and looked at him openly. "In the end, the decision is up to you. I know that you want a solution to this as quickly as possible and I understand that. And being thorough will necessarily mean that we talk in more detail about more personal stuff, that past events have to be brought up again to assess possible causes and links and that we need to talk about stuff you might not think of as important. For example, Borderline includes reckless behavior which sometimes manifests as reckless driving for example - a minor detail of daily life for many and not everyone would think much about their driving style. And Bipolar on the other hand often presents with racing thoughts when the person is manic or hypomanic - another rather small thing but important nonetheless. And in the end it could be possible you have neither and just happen to exhibit some of their symptoms together by accident."

Marshall twirled the corner of the pillow between his fingers more. "So, nothing simple?" This kinda reminded him of Nicolas's approach: Try shit out until it breaks.

She nodded agreeing, "I know. Medicine, mental or physical, isn't an exact science where you measure how long or heavy something is and that's your one true answer. Humans are too complex for that."

"Then, what do you suggest?", he asked. She had to have a plan here, right? That's why she was giving him that mindfulness homework. They were starting to work on this, not just talking about some hurtful shit from the past.

"I'd like to take a two-pronged approach", she explained confidently, "First, I want to test if your hypersexual behavior is linked to OCD and start to treat it like that. That way we can probably reduce some of the distress you're experiencing as quickly as possible. For that, I want you to start on the mindfulness practices I'm giving you", a short gesture to the desk, where she had the prepared material.

"Okay", Marshall agreed and was glad they were finally moving into a direction. This was a pressing matter, he needed to get his cheating under control now before it was too late. Nicolas was good for him, he couldn't fuck this up.

"Second", she went on to say, "I'd like to explore deeper if you have one of the BPD's, there's a concerning amount of overlap turning up the more information you give me. This could take some time but if my suspicions prove to be right, the right treatment could mean a huge improvement in the quality of your life. This might include the level of your sex drive as well, there's a possibility it might be linked to impulsivity or a manic state and that we would be able to treat in different ways. How much influence that has, though, I can't say for now. In order to decide which if any disorder you have and what we can do about it, I suggest to increase the frequency of our meetings again. There's a lot of work ahead of us and I don't want you to be in distress any longer than you have to be. Is that acceptable?", she asked.

Acceptable? It was necessary. Not just for her plan but in general, his life was becoming turbulent and chaotic again lately and he often felt confused. That he had needed an emergency session last month and called her out of the blue to vent his anger was probably indicative of this as well. He didn't know what to do and somehow everything was spiraling out of control. So he agreed with conviction: "Very acceptable. I will make the time." He needed to get a grip on things.

_You need to get a grip on your boo's dick, slut._


	58. Get The Bar Of Soap Lathered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the session with his therapist, Marshall's a little rattled by all this new information. To distract himself he washes his car and Hailie interrupts him.

The water was lukewarm on his hands and foamy, it splashed in the bucket as he wrung out the rag. Some drops hit the old sweatpants and tank top he was wearing. Wet noises as he slapped the rag on the hood of his car and thick drops ran down the black metal. His hand drew broad sweeping circles across the hood as he washed it, the muscles in his arm hard at work. The swing rocked his whole body in the same rhythm and pushed the silver collar to jerk against his neck, his other hand needed to stabilize him. Under his breath Marshall hummed the melody that came from the car speakers at full volume. The bright lights of the garage disguised the time of night.

_Lame ass. Go out, do something exciting! Anything is more adventure than a stupid toy, fag. What kind of slut are you? Horny but too lazy to go out? _He couldn't sleep, too many thoughts swirled around in his head and the bedroom ceiling wasn't helping. It was glad that it didn't have to watch him being split open by some random dicks with sweaty guys attached to it, watching him play with a vibrator was already enough. A sentiment Marshall understood, but it was his own fucking bedroom. If he wanted to play with a toy, that was the best place to do it. Was it not? _No, the best place is an orgy, bitch. Everyone knows that. You should dye your hair blond again, that fits your brain better._

Should he want to in the first place? It seemed better than to find some guy on the app and meet him at a motel, in that comparison staying home and playing with himself was surely the better option. Not as satisfying, but that was the price to pay. The problem he was raking his brains about: Did he want to have sex with some guy or was that his hypersexuality speaking?, or what else the Doc had called it, OCD, BPD, whatever. Was he sick? Like in an official, diagnosable way? _You ain't sick, you're just a slut. Get back to bed and fuck yourself. This is sad and ridiculous._ That he wasn't normal he knew and he had a problem very obviously, but that wasn't the same as being sick.

He knew this line of thinking, telling himself this wasn't all that big of a deal and not really something to worry about, he had shit under control. _Hahaha!_

The first step was accepting that this was a problem and he couldn't handle it on his own. He was still trying to find the line where his sex habits were okay, some guys from an app were too much and bad for his relationship, but with a toy by himself that wasn't too bad, right? When he compared his situation now to the days of his addiction, how and when he had been able to accept help, this had some uncomfortable similarities. Maybe calling this an addiction was on point. He had a habit of fixating on a thing, replacing his addiction to pills with too much sport at first. Balancing his life wasn't a talent of his. Perhaps if he wanted to right this, he needed to stop sex altogether? _The fuck no! God, no! No, don't even think that! Oh, the horror! To spend the rest of my life with you and no sex? Kill me now!_ No fucking random guys from an app, no blowjobs for Ryan, no sex with Nicolas either and no playing with himself anymore. Detoxing in a way. In this light their new arrangement was doing more harm than good, his boyfriend shouldn't enable and support his addiction.

Marshall sighed and wrung the rag out again, moving on to wash the fender and passenger side door. He absolutely and in no way was okay to give up sex, probably more addiction speaking than anything else. If he wasn't willing to put a hundred percent into the work to get better, he wouldn't get better period.

That's when he had put the toy aside and left his bedroom. He was still hung up on this point, not moving forwards nor backwards. He didn't want to give up sex regardless how bad his life was because of it, even sex with women was better than nothing. Now that was a red flag. A female body could be gifted with a sense of beauty but it didn't rouse his interest - or anything else for that matter. _Fucking homo!_ He had just learned how to get what he needed, not always an enjoyable act. But no sex at all? Nope, not with him.

He watched the foamy water drip from his car to the floor while he dunked the rag into the bucket again. That he was washing his car in the middle of the night probably should tell him something. He couldn't keep his hands still, he needed to do something - anything he would feel good about afterwards - Y_ou were already doing the thing: jerking off. Get a real dick to fuck you is always better, but I take what I can get._ A result easy to see and a clean car fit the bill. Maybe focusing on a dirty spot on the paint and trying to clean it could overwrite some of the thoughts that kept him awake. A feeble attempt at distraction, but if sex wasn't allowed what else was there?

The best distraction Marshall knew was sex, when he was bored and full with energy that's what he would do. There was a level at which writing and rapping wasn't enough anymore. Back in the day, he would find a party or a club to hang out at. _Ah, the good old days, what memories: Hennessy, ecstasy and chicks to screw, scheming on the first chick with the hugest boobs. And tomorrow you're probably gonna wanna do it again. What's a little spinal fluid between you and a friend?_ Probably for the better most of the details were hazy now, dancing and thrashing all night, finding some broad to drag into a corner and fuck like bunny rabbits. If that wasn't enough either, he would find a guy to fuck his brains out, or a couple of guys if it was bad enough. _Young, dumb and full of cum … _Marshall chuckled as he worked on the rear wing, the collar scraped along his neck lightly. An apt description of his younger self and he wasn't sure Ryan actually knew that much. His friend had a habit of self-aggrandizing, but when they had met Marshall had tried to be careful with his gay thing. Not very successful, he had to admit in hindsight, and being often drunk and high hadn't helped his hiding. Still, he had tried to hide it and he had tried to pacify Ryan's jealousy, so his friend shouldn't have noticed all that much in the end. Enough for them to fight a lot, usually a hunch as grounds for doubt. Marshall liked to think Ryan would've acted differently, if he had actually known any details. Then again, his friend stuck hard to his opinions once he had formed them, so chances were he believed he had done nothing wrong.

Marshall rested his forehead against the wet, black metal and closed his eyes for a second. There was something uncomfortable he needed to accept: Sex with Ryan could be fun but at times it really wasn't, more so at times it was wrong and not all 'cause it was Marshall's fault. If he told Ryan to get his dick out but his friend didn't, that was Ryan doing shit wrong. The man really had trouble listening. No, truth was that he probably didn't care too much and was ignoring Marshall on purpose. Mishearing a request once was an accident, ignoring the second, third and fourth request was on purpose. It highlighted that Marshall had trouble listening as well. Sure, Ryan liked him and they were friends and as colleagues they respected each other, but in regards to sex not so much. He should listen more closely: Ryan believed that Marshall didn't like Nicolas at all, worse believed Marshall was incapable of love in the first place, that Marshall fucked everybody without a care, that Marshall was too horny … that Marshall was just another slut Ryan could use. _Dead-on. But instead of using all your sluttiness for good you're hiding in your garage. What a waste! Put on something hot, something that shows your ass off and get to the party, fag!_ In some ways his friend wasn't wrong, but Marshall wanted to be more.

Wet fingers touched the collar around his neck and felt the small gemstones under his fingertips. He pressed a thumb into the soft flesh of his throat. To Nicolas he was more and at the same time he wasn't, the open relationship an attempt at walking this thin line. Could he get better with Nicolas at his side? Allowing him to fuck around to his heart's content couldn't be helping his problem, he needed boundaries and limits. Perhaps an open relationship could work for some people, those who had enough control of themselves to put their partners first when they needed to, but Marshall had proven he couldn't do that. Even when his boyfriend was right in front of his face he couldn't stop fucking somebody else. He scoffed at himself, noticing something for the first time: Even the sex-embargo hadn't held up to his need. That first weekend at the lake house when Nicolas had said they shouldn't have sex for a while, they had still jerked each other off. However much sex that counted for, it was some for sure. Marshall's want for sex always found a way.

Would Nicolas still be with him, if they couldn't have sex again? _Pff, who're you kidding? Why should he? All the antics you get up to, only bearable if there's some great sex for compensation. If not for your hole all eager and wet, there's no reason to keep you around, bitch. You're too much work - and I should know._ Perhaps never again, as this seemed the only way he could combat an addiction. Either all or nothing, that's how he lived his life. Marshall was sure, Ryan wouldn't stay and their friendship would cool off again. Maybe this time wouldn't end in a beef and a decade of ignoring each other, but he couldn't really see them be friends when they couldn't have sex. Nicolas? His boyfriend had made it clear how much he enjoyed their sex and more so how much he enjoyed Marshall during sex, calling him full of life and captivating when lustful, that he wanted to do so much more to Marshall. If they couldn't have sex again and all of this vanished from their relationship, would Nicolas leave?

He pressed the collar against his neck for a moment, the thought scaring him. He liked Nicolas more … As hard as this relationship was, as difficult as it was for him to trust in people and as bad of a boyfriend he always been, all of this was true but not nearly as corrosive as it normally was. Spending time with Nicolas was easy, sex or otherwise, and when he shared something of himself with the man it felt natural in a sense. There was this well of affection for Nicolas in him and it seeped deeper and deeper into him - all on its own. There was trust and intimacy between them he hadn't felt in a long time, even with Kim there hadn't been enough situations like this considering how long they had tried. Maybe he was doing the same mistake again, clinging to the first person who was willing to try being serious with him. He had never been good at letting go.

He took the rag out of the bucket again and started to wash the trunk lid, a splash of soapy water fell down on his naked feet.

"Daddy!", a high-pitched yell in the silence between two songs.

Spooked, Marshall jumped from the car. "What the-?" With wide eyes he looked at his daughter. Shouldn't she be sleeping?

Hailie leaned onto the driver's seat for a moment to turn the volume down before she faced him again. Her big sleeping shirt reached down to her knees and her blonde hair was a mess, fitting for this time of night. "I was trying to ask you the same thing. You know what time it is?", she asked concerned and slightly annoyed.

Marshall cocked his head. "No need to take this tone with me. What're you doing up anyway?" It was a school night after all, she should be in bed sleeping to be fit for school in a few hours. Instead she stood in front of his car and glared at him.

"It's 3 a.m.", she said accusingly, "Why're you washing the car?"

"Why not?" He threw the rag into the bucket and dried his hands by dragging them haphazardly across his tank top. "Couldn't sleep, thought I do something productive."

She frowned at him disbelieving. "A guy invented the carwash for this", she gestured to the car half soaped up.

"As if one's open at three in the morning, don't be ridiculous."

"Says the guy who washes his car in a necklace."

Reflexively, he slapped a hand against his neck, a feeble attempt to cover and hide the piece of jewelry. "None of your business." He had forgotten it was there. Or not so much forgotten, he felt it clearly with every movement, but it made so much sense for it to be around his neck. Where else would it be?

For a moment Hailie looked him over suspiciously. "That from Nicolas?"

"None of your business", he repeated.

"See, I thought so", she explained and nodded agreeing with herself, "Darth Vader ice cubes was a bit silly for a first time Christmas gift. That couldn't be all."

Marshall huffed. "You liked them in your pop."

A big grin on her face. "Of course, it's funny."

"That's what I said." Well, not out loud, but he had other problems with this gift than it being too silly. "Now, go back to sleep."

She leaned against the rear wing of the car still left dry. "It's not the kind you'd buy for yourself." Her eyes danced up and down his figure and he felt rather silly under her gaze.

Yes, he was wearing sweatpants so old that the elastic waistband wasn't elastic anymore and every step might make them fall off. There was a hole at the side of his knee where the seam had ripped a while ago and the tank top had a similar hole at the neckline. The expensive, radiant silver collar with its light blue gemstones had absolutely no business being in this ensemble. But just wearing it captured some of the feelings from Christmas, that he was pretty and how Nicolas saw this, that he belonged to Nicolas in a sense even when his desires were in the way. Playing with the toy and wearing the collar, he could've been back at the motel and feel Nicolas watch him … _You're so lost, little gay looking boy. He don't love you and you can't love him back. Go to the club, find somebody who'll fuck him out of you._ "How would you know?", he asked back and knelt down to the bucket and the rag. Wringing the rag between his hands was too little distraction from these thoughts and the want that came with them, that still was with him ever since he had left his bedroom. A want he couldn't give into anymore.

"It's too nice", she shrugged, "It looks really elegant. You'd never wear something like that."

Marshall slapped the wet rag on the trunk lid again and water splashed off, hitting his daughter who flinched away a little. "You saying I can't be elegant? Thanks Hai-Hai, you're always so supportive and motivating."

"Just saying, your stuff isn't as flashy normally … inconspicuous." She took a step away from the car, inspecting the spots where the water had hit her shirt. "It makes buying you gifts really difficult."

"You don't need to buy me anything", he answered instantly. "You being here is already a gift. Sometimes annoying, but a gift nonetheless." He wasn't interested in gifts anyway, a lingering effect of growing up without the means for them. Not that he didn't like nice things and he bought way too many shoes and comic books just because he could, but in the end these things had no meaning to him.

"I know, I know", she answered and apparently decided the spots of water would dry without her help. "But I don't wanna put myself on a t-shirt or a mug, now how trite's that? I have more style than that."

He smirked. "I got you on my arm, I think that's sufficient."

Hailie rolled her eyes. "So, why're you up? More love trouble with Nicolas?"

"You should be in bed", he dodged the answer, pausing the washing of the trunk lid to look at her sternly. "You got school in a few hours."

"And you got work", she held against him, "Yet, you're here washing your car in the middle of the night. It's pretty obvious something's up."

_There's always something up with you, bitch. Tonight's more stupid than usual: no more sex - laughable. Put the fake dick back in your hole and I teach you how stupid. _"No love trouble", he muttered and knelt down again, dunking the rag in the bucket and wringing it out. "Just trouble sleeping. Happens every now and then."

She hummed agreeing and watched him, leaning on the trunk and making her shirt a little more wet. "Have noticed that. Anything in particular keeping you up?"

He looked up at her, his hands kneaded the rag a little more than they needed to. "Nothing I can't handle, don't worry."

The frown on her face was rather cute.

Marshall sighed. "Don't make a face like that", to break her out of the scowl, he flicked a bit of soapy water into her face.

"Dad", she squealed and wiped her hands across her face, crinkling her nose.

He grinned triumphant.

"I'm serious", she said and threw him a strict look to emphasize the words. "Like, you could've told me that Nicky's a guy, you don't need to dance around these things. I'm not five anymore, you know, I know that gay people exist."

As if he could miss that. Though her big sleeping shirt hid it away and made her look like the little girl he had loved so much all these years, she wasn't anymore. She was growing into her own person with her own life and her own views on things, she was outgrowing needing him as a father and even though he had adjusted to the same thing with Lainy being two years older and doing everything earlier - a part of Marshall didn't want none of them to grow up. He was proud of the people they were becoming, but he was missing the old days. Probably how life had to be. "I ain't dancing around nothing, I just didn't feel like telling just yet. It's still new, you know." _You're a little pussy, bitch!_

Hailie huffed in disbelief. "It's been months, that's not new. Are you gonna bring him around any time soon?", she asked curious.

"No!", immediately Marshall shook his head, "Nope, not gonna happen. No way."

"Okay, okay", she held her hands up in a pacifying gesture. "It was just a question."

He sighed. Letting the rag and the soapy water be, he got up again to lean against the trunk. He pulled her to his side and hugged her. "Our family don't need nobody else. It's good like this." He kissed her temple gently. They didn't need a step-mom and they surely didn't need a step-dad, his daughters had their parents and they had a home. There was no need for somebody else to barge in and make things complicated again. It was enough that his heart would get broken when the relationship inevitably failed, he didn't want his daughters to loose anyone they liked because of him. Their family didn't look like it ought to be, but they had finally found a way to make it work. He needed to keep this peace.

"I know", she said and hugged him back. "But if you want to be with somebody, you should. You're allowed to be happy."

Only a short hum, not agreeing not disagreeing.

"I want you to be happy, Dad", she said pointedly and looked at him.

"You make me happy", he answered quietly and kissed her temple again. "Don't worry about me, I manage, I always do."

A moment she hugged him tighter before she let go. "Then you should bring him over some time. Maybe you guys can geek out about your comic books or something."

"I doubt that", he muttered. Nicolas read a lot of books but not comic books, or at least not the kind Marshall was into. He was a traditionalist, Spiderman was his favorite but all Nicolas had said about it was: How's a silly name and tights the first thing the guy did when he got superpowers? That about summed up his boyfriend's opinion of comic books pretty well. Which had prompted Marshall to make a similar quip about anime and that boobs didn't bounce like that, but Nicolas was more into the brutal and bloody kind of anime and had just shrugged it off. Point Nicolas.

There was a little knowing smirk on her face and Hailie leaned forward a little. "Are you playing chicken? You've been going out for how long now, a year? Bringing him home isn't that big of a deal."

"It's only been a few months." They had met 125 days ago, that wasn't even half a year yet. _Are you fucking counting the days, fag? And I thought you couldn't get any more pathetic. Fuck me, no wonder you're washing your car at 3 a.m. instead of picking up a chick at a bar. Bitch, grow a pair._ "I'm not chicken, I'm just … I just don't think we're there yet, alright." The lake house was homey enough.

"Sure, sure", she didn't believe a single word he was saying. "Next time you wanna meet one of our boyfriends, we'll say that. Let's see what happens."

"That's different", he explained slightly annoyed at her pestering. "You're my little girl, I need to check if some random dude is good enough for you."

"You know we can decide that for ourselves. Besides,you always make it awkward on purpose." She cocked her head amused.

Marshall shrugged markedly impassive. "I don't know what you mean. Ain't my fault when they get hung up on meeting Eminem. I'm just your dad."

She bumped his shoulder lightly with her own. "Compared to that, meeting a couple teenage girls is a cakewalk. Nicolas will do just fine."

"I doubt that." Even though Nicolas said he was good at handling his niece, Marshall didn't really see his boyfriend taking care of the girls. It wouldn't be good to have him here and share their home with him and then Nicolas would break up with Marshall after all, maybe because he was cheating too much or maybe because he shouldn't have sex ever again. Both prospects were awful.

"Well, good that we don't have to go by your doubts, then. Just bring him over and we'll find out for sure", she explained lightheartedly. "And if it turns out he's bad with kids, that's okay. He isn't dating us, so it doesn't really matter."

"Of course it matters", he huffed.

"No, it doesn't", she disagreed, "Like you said, our family doesn't need anybody else. We don't need him to be our dad, we got you for that. He only needs to be your boyfriend and make you happy. And he seems to be pretty good at that, isn't he."

Marshall rubbed his neck sheepish, the collar scraped his skin and made him feel more embarrassed but also warmer. "Maybe", he gave in a little.

There was a grin in her blue eyes. "You're wearing his necklace to wash your car. That speaks for itself."

It probably spoke volumes. "Fine, I think about it."

She beamed very happy with herself.

"You're using your superpowers for evil again, just so you know", he explained to her jokingly.

"I get that from you", she answered in the same tone and picked up the rag out of the bucket, water was dripping back and splashed everywhere as she pressed the fabric together.

"You wanna help wash the car?", he asked surprised.

"Nope, that's stupid", she answered back. "Go to the carwash and done."

Marshall rolled his eyes. With all the technology these days kids lost the sense for doing things by hand. Sadly, his girls were part of that.

"So tell me, why can't you sleep?", she asked again point blank. She was facing him openly, the wet rag in her hands.

"Not important", he answered. Then he spluttered as the wet rag hit his face, totally surprising him. He pulled it from his face. "The hell? What's that for?" He threw the rag back at her.

But Hailie caught it easily. "Stop avoiding. You're washing your car at 3 a.m. with the music so loud I can hear it in my room. Something's up."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He'd been fairly sure the girls' rooms were far enough to not be disturbed by him. Seemed like he guessed wrong.

"Tell me what you're brooding over and we're quit." She dunked the rag into the water again and formed it into a ball, totally prepared to throw it again.

Marshall stood up straight preparing himself to dodge. "You don't need to know." She hit his face again even though he moved out of the way. He pulled his tank top up to wipe the excess water off his face, taking the short moment to decide what to do next. Should he throw the rag back? Or keep the rag? Maybe pour the whole bucket over her head? There were some sweet options available. Quickly stepping towards her the few feet, he grabbed her arm and pulled her in, holding her tightly. As she struggled in defense, he pushed the rag in her face. "I said, it's none of your business", he repeated before he let her go with a smirk.

She wiped her eyes clear of the soapy water, smirking herself. "I remember someone telling me that in this house there's no my business and your business, but it's always our business. Who was that again?"

"Don't know, but he sounds a bit like a dweeb." He still had the rag in his hand and brandished it like a weapon.

Hailie picked up the bucket, she wasn't one to let things go easy. "You'd be surprised, he can be pretty smart."

"Really? You gotta introduce me to him some time." He lunged forward to grab her again, but she threw the water from the bucket at him. Just in time he held the rag up in front of his face, but that didn't do much good. His upper body was wet and water dripped down from him.

"Well, sometimes he's a bit of a clown", she answered, "And so, so stubborn."

Marshall lifted the soaked tank top off his wet skin but it had turned clingy. "Great, now I gotta shower." Unceremoniously, he just took it off.

Without much sympathy Hailie shrugged. "At least that's open at three in the morning."

"Haha", he laughed dryly and threw the rag and the top into the now half empty bucket. "It ain't really worth all this trouble, you know."

"Just spill it already", she demanded.

He leaned back against the trunk of his car, crossing his arms again. "It's therapy, so really nothing to worry about."

"Oh?", Hailie asked curious and stepped next to him, leaning against the car beside him. "Does that mean it's going good or is it bad?"

"Probably good?", he mused, "She might've found something out. It's a bit much is all." _It's just the same old story: You're a slut and a dirty bitch, whatever fancy term the Doc comes up with._

"What did she find out?", she asked still curious but a little less prompting than before. She had a little sympathy for her dad, sometimes.

Marshall shrugged because he really wasn't sure. "That I might have this thing … or whatever. We're … uhm, we're working on me being a better boyfriend." That was a good way to describe it child-friendly. Also Hailie knew very well he had trouble with relationships, she'd been in the middle of it all these years. "So, with this thing under control we might get there. At least, that's what she says."

"What thing?"

He still hated that his mother could be right. She didn't get to be right about him, not after everything that had happened. But he sighed in surrender, after all he trusted his therapist and when she put any merit in this, it probably wasn't wrong. "She thinks I'm bipolar. And I think that's stupid, I'm not crazy just because I have a mood sometimes. Everyone has moods."

"Hmm", his daughter hummed thinking, "She wouldn't suggest it without a reason."

Which he knew, in the last two years she'd been really helpful and he was a lot better than he had been in the years prior. But even the best doctor could be wrong, they were still human and fallible, she had explained that at length to him. "Don't mean it's a good reason."

"You went to her because you weren't well", Hailie pointed out, "Doesn't that mean it's by definition not a good reason?"

He tussled her hair a little. "Smarty pants."

She grinned tentatively. "Just saying, it's her job to find stuff like this out and make it better."

"I know. Don't mean I have to like it." Which he definitely didn't. _Bitch, you don't like nothing that can't get you off._

"Nobody likes the truth, Dad." She patted his back in an attempt to comfort.

Marshall huffed and bumped against her shoulder softly. "Keep it up and next year ain't your sweet sixteen but your sweet sixty. That's gonna be awkward."

"You'll be there, it's gonna be awkward either way", she smirked amused.

"Oh you", he tickled her sides, "Now I gonna be my awkwardest on purpose, wait for it."

Hailie was laughing and trying to keep his hands at bay. "Don't, you're mean, Dad."

He pulled her into a hug and put another kiss on the top of her head. "Only because I love you."

"Mhm", she mumbled and hugged him back. With a more subdued voice she asked: "Did she say what this is, bipolar? Can't just be that you're erratic sometimes. You got lots of stuff to juggle all at once, everyone would be a bit jumpy at times. Right?"

"She didn't really", he answered and kept holding her. They didn't cuddle as much the older she grew. One of the things he missed about her not being a little girl anymore. "She wants to be thorough and really dig deep into this, so that's probably why."

She made a humming sound as she thought about his answer. "Why don't we look it up?", she suggested and looked up at him. "You know, see what all the fuss is about."

He gave her a questioning look back.

"Yeah, we should do that", and she jumped away from the car and their hug. "So that you know what you're getting yourself into here, to see on what track she's on." Hailie was hurrying out of the garage and back into the house.

"Wha-?", but he was interrupted by her rapid exit. Marshall gave a loud groan and followed her. "This is stupid", he muttered as he went back into the house. He believed the Doc, if she said some of the things he did lined up with this, they probably did. What would him reading about it change? Besides, he probably didn't understand all the psycho-babble anyway. _If you would've gone to the club as I told you, you wouldn't have this problem right now, homo. You could be having a good fuck right now like you should._

He found his daughter in the living room sitting in front of her laptop. With a smile she tapped the seat beside her. "Let's see what this hoopla is all about."

Still grumbling he sat down next to her. "This is nonsense. I mean, she also said it could be nothing and all by accident."

"How likely is that, hm?", Hailie dismissed and opened the browser. "It won't hurt to have a look." With that, she was typing away and a few clicks later a webpage opened full with paragraphs of text and embedded links.

Marshall was leaning over his daughter's shoulder to read but gave up after the first few words. It was absolutely boring, dry and too much to follow. He could wait for his therapist to explain this to him, she usually found better words.

But Hailie read with concentration and was humming low hm's and oh's.

"What's it say?", he asked.

She read out loud: "Bipolar disorder is a mental disorder characterized by periods of depression and abnormally elevated moods."

"That's the moody part, eh?", Marshall interrupted her. "Knew that much already."

"Signs and symptoms", she read and on scrolled down the page, "Manic episodes … At least one week of elevated or irritable mood which can range from euphoria to delirium." She looked at him briefly, a pensive frown on her face, then she focused back on the page and her eyes flickered over the small text. "The core symptom of mania involves an increase in energy of psychomotor activity. Mania can also present with-"

"What's that?", he interrupted her and looked over her shoulder again, "Psychomotor? That sounds made up."

Hailie clicked the link within the text for further explanation and read: "Unintentional and purposeless motions and restlessness. Typical manifestations include pacing around a room, wringing the hands, uncontrolled tongue movement, pulling off clothing and so forth. The motions may become harmful to the individual, such as ripping, tearing or chewing at the skin around one's fingernails, lips or other body parts to the point of bleeding." She looked up and pointed at him: "Is that it?"

A second he was confused, then he realized he was biting his lower lip again. "That's just my thinking face", he dismissed, rubbing over his lips embarrassed. _You don't have a thinking face, slut, you don't think. It's why you have two holes perfect for dick._

"Sure … Let's go back", she suggested and clicked the tab for the main page. "Mania can also present with increased self-esteem or grandiosity-"

"Yeah, no", he interrupted with certainty and a little smug. Grandiosity wasn't his thing, his skills as a rapper were quite good but for most other things he usually felt inadequate.

Unperturbed she went on: "Racing thoughts, pressured speech that is difficult to interrupt, decreased need for sleep, disinhibited social behavior, increased goal-oriented activities and impaired judgement - exhibition of behaviors characterized as impulsive or high-risk, such as hypersexuality or excessive spending. If untreated, a manic episode usually lasts three to six months."

"Huh", there was the sex thing again, "Sounds technical." Disinhibited social behavior, what was that supposed to mean? _I have some guesses. Showing your naked ass in public maybe? Or making a fool of yourself by, oh I don't know, doing an interview on the crapper for example? Or shouting from a stage you want to kill your wife? That's pretty disinhibited if you ask me. Or how about to stare into the butthole of a groupie?_ That wasn't his fault! She had pulled down her pants by herself, he hadn't touched her at all. _You asked her to, bitch._ Well …

"I think that's on purpose", she said with a bit of humor in her voice.

Briefly he looked at her unimpressed. "I know, I know."

A moment longer she looked at him, before she turned back to the laptop and read on: "Hypomanic episodes, it's the milder form of mania, defined as at least four days of the same criteria as mania, but which doesn't cause a significant decrease in the individual's ability to socialize or work, lacks psychotic features such as delusions or hallucinations, and doesn't require psychiatric hospitalization." She cocked her head to the side, "This is no joke."

"Apparently not." Hospitalization? That sounded really bad. "Well, I never was in the hospital for - whatever this is. I don't think a broken arm counts here."

"Probably not", she agreed, "Or maybe it does, if you got it because of some _high-risk behavior_." She looked at him with question.

Marshall shook his head. "I was fixing the house and slipped up. Sounds like normal-risk to me."

Turning her eyes back on the screen, she went on reading from the webpage: "Symptoms of the depressive phase include persistent feelings of sadness, irritability or anger, loss of interest in previously enjoyed activities, excessive or inappropriate guilt, hopelessness, sleeping too much or not enough, changes in appetite and-or weight, fatigue, problems concentrating, self-loathing or feelings of worthlessness and thoughts of death or suicide."

A low hum buzzed in his throat. This wasn't a surprise. "We knew that before."

Hailie scrolled a little further down the page. "Oh, here's something interesting: In bipolar disorder, a mixed state is an episode during which symptoms of both mania and depression occur simultaneously."

Marshall fell back against the couch cushions and sighed. "Can't never be simple, can it."

"Mhm", she hummed, her eyes still trained on the display of her laptop. "There's more, listen to this: The diagnosis of bipolar disorder can be complicated by coexisting psychiatric conditions including obsessive-compulsive disorder, substance-use disorder, eating disorders, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, social phobia or panic disorder." She looked up from the text and at him, "I'm starting to see where the Doc is coming from."

He stuck his tongue out at his daughter. "Great, then you can have the next session with her."

"Don't pout", Hailie said and leaned back next to him, a soft and encouraging smile on her lips. "It's probably like horoscopes, you can see yourself in everything if you stare at it long enough. That's why you go to a professional, they know what is and isn't a thing."

"Well, she did say she wasn't sure yet", Marshall put a qualifier on all of this. That he had gotten in some trouble in his teens and twenties was normal for that age, nothing _high-risk_ there … Well, no it wasn't. Going to some public restroom to suck random guys off wasn't normal for any age, much less for thirteen. He could've seriously harmed himself with that maneuver. Totally understandable that his therapist wanted to unpack that. He sighed again with resignation this time, "Maybe she has a bit of a point, I can be hard to shut up sometimes."

She slid closer next to him so they could cuddle properly. "True", she agreed, "I'm sure she knows what to do. I mean, it's not a bad thing that she wants to make your life better and easier. This bipolar thing sounds pretty exhausting to say the least."

"Life sometimes is", and there wasn't much to be done about it. "It's just … I don't know. Much."

Her blue eyes looked at him closely, sympathy written all over them. "You're still you. You always be my dad, a little goofy, a little annoying and a little petty. I wouldn't have you any other way."

Tugging her closer he gave his daughter another kiss. "Love you, too."

Her arms were wrapped around him, her head rested on his shoulder. "It's gonna be alright, you'll see. The Doc knows her stuff and you'll have this under control in no time. It'll make things better, for sure."

"Mhm", he hummed agreeing. That's what his therapist did best and from this point there wasn't much deeper to fall, so up was the only direction to go in. _Up to where? You're exactly where you should be: Looking for a dick to suck. That's all you need for a happy life, just accept it. You're a slut and you love to fuck with everyone. Nothing wrong, nothing to better._

"And maybe next time when someone sneaks around the house in the middle of the night, it's gonna be me. Would be a nice change of pace", Hailie suggested jokingly, but there was a hint of worry to hear.

He rubbed her arm apologetically. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay", her arms hugged him a little tighter, "I'm just glad you were washing your car."

"What else would I be doing?", he asked with furtive puzzlement. Had she thought he would be doing something bad? He felt stable in his sobriety at the moment, even though things got a little out of hand lately, this part of his life was unshaken so far. _Which is why you're so boring! But your holes are open anyway, so I let this slide, fag. Be grateful._

Hailie shrugged slightly. "Don't know, you never told me what you were doing last time."

Last time? Marshall looked at her a little confused but only saw her mess of blond hair. He kissed it again and continued to stroke her arm and back, probably not a good attempt at comforting her for whatever she worried abo- Worick. "Oh …", he made an understanding noise and whispered, "I'm so sorry." How frightened must she have been that night? Waiting for him with worry and then seeing him in a state like that all battered and weak, confused and barely able to hold a conversation. "I will get better", he promised her. She should never again have to see him like that. _One of your best nights in months! When you gonna do it again? I'm sure Ryan's up for that, he's always up to fuck you hard. That boy's totally gone for you, but hey, even a bitch has to catch a lucky break every once in a while._

"I know", she said and her voice was thin.

He couldn't explain to her what had happened or explain to her how it wasn't going to happen again. Although, it probably would. She was his daughter for God's sake, she shouldn't know and should never had to see that.

But she had. Worse, she had needed to take care of him, had put him to bed like a child. This wasn't right. He pressed her closer because he didn't know what else to do. "She's right", he said and most of his daughter's blond hair muffled his voice. If it wasn't this exactly, then it was the other thing the doctor had listed or maybe it was like an addiction, that would fit him well and it had scared his daughters before. Lying half dead on his bedroom floor wasn't far removed from lying fainted and covered in cum in a stranger's bathroom. "I'm so sorry", he whispered and these words didn't feel like enough. He had ruined her childhood in all the ways.

"It's not your fault", she said and her breath tickled his naked skin.

"It is", he disagreed softly, "And I'll find a way to stop all this, I promise."

Hailie lifted her head a little to look at him, her eyes watery. "It's not. You looked like in pain, I don't think you did whatever that was because you wanted to … It's not that easy, is it."

"It will be", he said with fake confidence. Nothing about this was easy, only the knowledge that he shouldn't be like this. His fingertips stroked across her cheek like this could keep her from crying.

"Stop it, Dad", she said and her small fist hit against his chest. "I know you want to protect me and all that and … and I probably can't help you anyway, I'm just a kid. But I can see you're hurting, damn it, and I don't know why and - and at least when uncle DeShaun died I knew why, but now I have no idea. All I know is, you're hurting and you're pulling back and I feel like I lose you again and …" A sniffle.

He pulled her into a deep hug. "You're not losing me. You'll never lose me", he said and knew this wasn't going to dry her tears. "I always be here for you, always."

Hiding her face in the crook of his neck she shook her head, arms tightly holding on to him. The rest of her body crawled onto his lap and the cheeky, know-it-all demeanor she so often displayed was completely gone, left was a daughter afraid for her father.

It was breaking his heart. Softly Marshall rubbed her back, swaying back and forth and humming comfortingly. "Shh", he whispered, "It will be alright, I promise." They had lived through his addiction before and gotten out stronger. They had lived through the divorces and were still holding family close. They had managed to live with fame and the public scrutiny it invited, yet they had kept their lives intact. He had put his daughter through so much. "I will make this right", he promised and meant it, whatever it would take it, he'd do it. His daughter had suffered enough. "Shh, Daddy'll always be with you. I love you." More than anything else in this world.

She was clinging to his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Lightly she nodded, "I love you, too", but her voice was thin. She seemed so small and vulnerable huddled in his arms.

He gave her another kiss. "Let's go back to bed", he suggested with a soft voice. "You'll see, when you wake up it's gonna be a different day, a better day."

Lifting her head from his neck, she looked at him doubtful. She was already old enough to know how much bullshit that sentence was. "Okay", she said small.

Another kiss, another hug. He didn't want to see her like this, sad and afraid. Even if those feelings were part of life, he couldn't see her like this and he couldn't be the reason for this. His little angel should be happy, that was his life's mission. He dragged his thumb over her cheek and wiped away some of her tears. "I will make this better", he promised again, "You don't need to worry about me."

"You're my dad, of course I worry", she said and rubbed her eyes to get the last tears out of them.

He tried a smile: "That's nice of you. I'm already feeling much better."

A weak shove to his shoulder. "Good, I don't wanna see you like that again, got it?", she said mockingly strict.

"You won't, I promise." Heart beating a little easier after her little joke. "Let's go back to bed. This night has done enough, don't you think."

She nodded agreeing and climbed down from him and from the couch. "You too."

"I'll try." He closed the laptop lid and stood up himself. Putting an arm around her shoulders he walked her upstairs and into her bedroom and she clung to him the whole way. He tugged her into bed and sat her favorite plushie on her chest, as he had done so often when she'd been smaller. And as back then she grabbed it and pressed it close. "Sweet dreams, Hai-Hai", he wished softly and gave her another kiss.

"Sweet dreams, Daddy", she wished back, a last hug.

He switched off the lights and left her room.

As the door closed behind him he let out a deep sigh. He leaned his back against the wall and let the tremor shake his body. "Fuck", he mouthed silently, aware that his daughter might hear him through the door. How could he let this happen? How could he scare his daughter like this? Again? He was supposed to take care of her and make her life better. Undeniable, he needed to be a better father. He had one priority in life, his daughters were the most important thing. More important than hip hop, more important than himself. _Not more important than a good fuck._

His feet felt wobbly as he walked down the hall to his own bedroom past the doors behind which his other two daughters lay sleeping. Quietly he opened the door to Lainy's room, who had seen him that night a few weeks ago as well. He tiptoed to her bed and wished he could take the memory away from her. How could she be any less affected by it than Hailie was? Leaning down he stroked a strain of hair out of her face and gave her head a kiss. "I'm sorry", he whispered without a voice. _That they found you out. You fucked Ryan again and only thing keeping it from a one-to-one repeat was your boo getting in the way._

Just as quietly he closed the door behind him again. Rough he rubbed his eyes and snuck into the next room. Whitney was sound asleep in her bed, half the blanket on the floor. A smile on his face out of love not happiness. He draped the blanket around her fully and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I love you", and he promised to not screw up her life, too. _You would love for them both to fuck you. Get them both to the lake house and just screw for a hole weekend. Like in the good old days, when you'd fuck so long you were raw and numb all over, but fuck was it good. It's a damn shame you're sober._

As he walked into his own bedroom his legs threatened to give out and his arms felt too heavy like they were dragging him under. There was only one thought left in his head:"I hurt Hailie." Every cell in his body filled up with failure and misery. _Not for the first time, not for the last. You're a slut, you only know how to satisfy someone with sex, not how to make someone happy with - what, the power of friendship? Hahaha! You don't have friends, only fuck buddies. You don't have a family, only freeloaders. You don't love, you fuck - and who you can't fuck is useless to you._ He forwent the shower and fell into his bed without a care about the dirty water he'd been drenched in earlier. Body shivering, heart aching, breath faltering. A weak arm stretched out to his nightstand to search for his phone until his fingers found it and he pulled it close to his face. There was a speck of relief inside him as he read Nicolas's name on the brightly glowing display. Hearing his boyfriend's deep voice now, a comfort he secretly longed for.

Marshall closed his eyes. He couldn't afford to be weak, for his daughter's sake he needed to be strong. He needed to be strong now. And so he typed a message he couldn't read through his blurred vision, tears were building up but not cried. His thumb was slow to press the letters on the display and trembled with each prompt to his muscles. Once more in his life he needed to do something he hated doing. This was for the best. His daughters came first, they would always come first.

I can't be with you. I'm sorry. goodbye


	59. Text Messages (Skit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day of text messages between Marshall and Nicolas.

Marshall: I can't be with you. I'm sorry. goodbye

Nicolas: kitten? are you okay?

Marshall: I have to put my daughters first. I'm sorry

Nicolas: don't be. they're your priority, I understand

Marshall: no you don't. I just can't anymore

Nicolas: do you want to talk about it?

Marshall: no, you just talk me out of it again

Nicolas: I'm here to listen, I won't say a word

Marshall: there ain't nothing to talk about. I scare my daughters and I can't have that, end of story. what you like about me is bad and I have to get rid of it. I can't do that with you enabling me, I can't do that with anyone close to me

Nicolas: why were your daughters scared?

Marshall: they worry, they saw me the other night. this can never happen again

Nicolas: the other night? didn't look that bad to me

Marshall: really? you didn't want to fuck me that's how bad it was

Nicolas: I tried to but you had more fun with Ryan. what am I supposed to do?

Marshall: you're my fucking boyfriend, you're supposed to fuck me more and get some sense into me, obviously. you should do something!

Nicolas: I tried, you wouldn't listen. you don't take advice easily, you know

Marshall: you kiddin' me? you called me a disgrace and that I have no self-respect. how's that advice?

Nicolas: the hell? when did I say that? I didn't say that

Marshall: yes, you did, I remember very clearly

Nicolas: no, I didn't. why would I say that?

Marshall: how would I know? you say a lot of fucked up shit about me

Nicolas: no, I don't. I like you, that's all I say

Marshall: I know what I heard

Nicolas: I wouldn't call you a disgrace, c'mon on

Marshall: but you did

Nicolas: no, I didn't

Marshall: yes, you did

Nicolas: that's not how I think about you

Marshall: when you were at the studio a while ago you said that to me

Nicolas: I didn't say that

Marshall: yes, you did

Nicolas: okay, whatever, not important. so, when you say the other night, you mean when you were so fucked out of shape you could barely walk? and your daughters saw that? that's not really child-friendly

Marshall: they deserve a better father than this. I can't scare them like this

Nicolas: no wonder they worry about you. I mean, everybody should worry about that, first of all you

Marshall: well, I am now. and that means we're over

Nicolas: what? why?

Marshall: because something like that can't never happen again. I can't be like this anymore

Nicolas: okay, I understand that and I want you to take better care of yourself

Marshall: then you understand I have to do this. I'm sorry, for everything

Nicolas: but … really I mean it, good for you wanting to better yourself and all that. that is great, absolutely, but, I mean, what has that to do with me? we just got back together

Marshall: because you wanna do that with me too. like on christmas and that night at the motel and stuff, you want me to be this way. the whole reason we're together is because I'm like this and you like it so much

Nicolas: sure, I like it a lot but if you don't want to have sex like that, we don't have to. you can always say no and that's okay

Marshall: oh grow up, people don't really mean that. when you're at full speed, you don't stop when somebody tells you to. that never happens

Nicolas: kitten, are you okay?

Marshall: I'm a father and sober, I can't be this mess anymore. I just can't have this. I don't want to be like this anymore but you want me to and … and I can't make any exceptions if I wanna get better. that ain't how this works. I'm sorry I roped you into all this, you deserve better than this and you deserve something for all your troubles, but I just can't give that to you. I'm sorry this was all for nothing

Nicolas: hold on a second

Marshall: we barely did anything even and I'm this much of a mess. even if I could make an exception for you, it'll end the same way anyway. it all does. I have to think about my daughters, they can't see me like this never again. regardless who makes this mess out of me, you or ryan or whoever, to my daughters it all looks the same. I can't have that. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry

Nicolas: it's okay, kitten, it's fine. you don't need to be sorry for anything. you're looking out for yourself, that's good. this is you taking care of yourself, I get that and I support that

Marshall: I'm sorry

Nicolas: I don't know how to ask this, but do you have a plan here? I feel like a dick asking this, but I mean, breaking up with me won't un-worry your daughters. and it won't un-do whatever it is you need to get better

Marshall: I'll never have sex again

Nicolas: that's a bold claim. you sure?

Marshall: I'm serious!

Nicolas: okay, I believe you

Marshall: I can't have my daughters worry about me, I can't be a mess anymore. so, I can't have sex anymore

Nicolas: the all or nothing approach? I can respect that

Marshall: I can do it! I will do it!

Nicolas: I believe in you, kitten, you're strong

Marshall: you'll see! I can live without sex just fine

Nicolas: of course you can

Marshall: oh I will! make fun of me all you want, I done harder things than this. I won a fucking oscar, you know

Nicolas: I wasn't making fun, I know you can do this

Marshall: really? wait, what now?

Nicolas: I believe in you, kitten

Marshall: that's it? you ain't telling me this won't work? and how dumb this is? I am? that a horny ass like me can't be celibate? or should be? like how I'm a waste of life without it? that sex is too good to give up?

Nicolas: you have a strong will, that counts for a lot. if you think this is the best way to go, then it probably is

Marshall: oh

Nicolas: if you don't mind me asking, do you have contingency plans? a strong will is great and all but sometimes it isn't enough, you know. what then?

Marshall: I'm working on it. my therapist got me homework for it and I think - hope that having been sober for two years now can help a little. like, the beginning was really hard and I couldn't see myself managing a day without pills, I didn't know who I was without them anymore and I needed to relearn that. but it became a new normal at some point, you know. maybe I see a way in a few weeks or months how to live without sex just fine, like I'm living without pills just fine now

Nicolas: is that how it is? is this the same thing?

Marshall: I know it sounds ridiculous

Nicolas: does it? it kinda makes sense, I guess, now that I think about it

Marshall: it's ridiculous, sex addiction ain't a thing. I'm just … I don't know. I have to do this

Nicolas: I don't think it matters. if looking at it like this helps you find a way to live better, then why not? whatever helps you live better

Marshall: but it ain't an excuse for what I did to you. I was the worst boyfriend to you and I'm still all selfish now. I just … I can't go on like this. I'm sorry

Nicolas: don't be. I enjoyed our time together

Marshall: you're okay with this? really?

Nicolas: I want you to take better care of yourself

Marshall: by breaking up with you? because I turned sex into an addiction? you can't be serious. I can't believe I'm serious!

Nicolas: well … to be honest, you sometimes remind me of the girls around the club and I don't think that says something good about your life. if this is what you need to do to take care of yourself, I get it. I mean, not acting like a hooker or like porn probably is a nice goal to aim for

Marshall: you too, huh

Nicolas: I wish you the best of luck and a lot of strength. I believe in you, kitten

Marshall: I'm sorry it has to end likes this, I wish it could be different

Nicolas: I understand, don't worry. you need to take care of yourself and your family, that has priority. I'm just collateral damage

Marshall: you deserve better

Nicolas: so do you

Marshall: I'm sorry

Nicolas: me too

* * *

Marshall: I was right, wasn't I?

Nicolas: you're already relapsing? it's been three hours, you can do better

Marshall: we can't be together without sex. you don't want me if you can't fuck me

Nicolas: I never said that

Marshall: you don't have to. in fact, that you didn't say it says it all

Nicolas: take a deep breath, kitten

Marshall: don't! just be honest with me, I ain't worth it if you can't fuck me

Nicolas: you told me not to talk you out of it

Marshall: oh shut up, that has nothing to do with it. you only want to fuck me, that's all I'm good for

Nicolas: I enjoyed our time together, with and without sex

Marshall: you said you wouldn't give up fucking me for nothing

Nicolas: and you don't want to have sex again

Marshall: so you're giving me up just like that? fuck you!

Nicolas: you told me not to talk you out of it. I'm trying to be supportive

Marshall: oh fuck that! you just glad you don't have to deal with my cheating ass anymore

Nicolas: the cheating part bothers you more than me

Marshall: don't put this on me! you're the one who's all "your life's a mess, take better care of it" and "you gotta fight for yourself, kitten"

Nicolas: I didn't mean to say it like that

Marshall: of course not, I must've heard it wrong then. it's always my fault, ain't it? everything's always my goddamn fault!

Nicolas: I just tried to say you don't seem happy a lot of the time and that I would like to see you more happy. that's not a bad thing to want

Marshall: how am I supposed to be fucking happy? you ever looked at my life? all I'm good for is a quick blowjob and songs everybody hates. and you don't even fucking care about music!

Nicolas: what is this about?

Marshall: that you're a goddamn ASSHOLE and you don't fucking care about me! it's all about your fucking dick!

Nicolas: I care about you, it's why I support you with this. if not being with me is helping you get better, then I'm not standing in your way. what else do you want me to do?

Marshall: you say all this sweet shit that you want me to live my best life and that you want to see me smile and all that shit, but in reality you don't fucking care

Nicolas: I say all that because I care

Marshall: no, you fucking don't!

Nicolas: I fucking do! I care about you a whole lot more than I should

Marshall: you NEVER fucking cared! you just want to fuck me and break my heart

Nicolas: you're the one who's breaking hearts at the moment

Marshall: great, blame it on me! it's all my fucking fault, ain't it? fan-fucking-tastic! you said you wanna BREAK ME apart and make me writher in PAIN. congrats, you did!

Nicolas: not like this!

Marshall: well, this is all you gonna get! hope you're fucking HAPPY now!

Nicolas: there's nothing happy about this

Marshall: I fucking know! nice for you to finally see that, asshole

Nicolas: I care about you and I respect your decision. why are you yelling at me for this?

Marshall: don't give me this shit! you ain't a good person

Nicolas: so? neither are you, who cares? that ain't why I like you

Marshall: I hate you!

Nicolas: kitten

Marshall: I fucking hate you! I wish I never met you. I should've never let this go so far. fuck, my daughters know because of you. fucking asshole! I should've never let this happen. you did this! this is your fucking fault and you DON'T FUCKING CARE! fucking shit! you're the worst. I should've never met up with you in the first place. or fucking start dating you. I don't ever wanna see you again!

Nicolas: you won't have to. succeed with this! be celibate, live without sex, be strong! and you won't see me again. show me and yourself, what a fucking asshole I am. show me, that you're fucking worth it for your own sake, not for sex. show me, that you're stronger than your need or addiction. show me that I'm a damn fool for letting you go!

Marshall: I don't fucking need you!

* * *

Marshall: I don't wanna die alone

Nicolas: you're not dying

Marshall: someday I will

Nicolas: your daughters will be there

Marshall: not what I meant

Nicolas: I know

Marshall: shouldn't you be telling me that I won't die alone? and that I find someone who can love me? who I can have sex with without it getting out of control? that I won't stay this fucked up broken thing forever? that there is a person who'll love me for me, even if I can't have sex with them?

Nicolas: you're not a child, I won't promise you all your dreams will come true when you grow up. some won't, that's life

Marshall: asshole

Nicolas: as advertised

Marshall: this is bullshit. I shouldn't be texting you, we fucking broke up this morning. I should be in the studio working

Nicolas: then go there and work, I'm not stopping you

Marshall: I can't. I can't even concentrate on this stupid show

Nicolas: this too shall pass

Marshall: it doesn't feel like it

Nicolas: it never does

Marshall: you ain't helping. stop answering me

Nicolas: I'm not that selfless

Marshall: what?

* * *

Marshall: can you still take the weekend off? I wanna take you out

Nicolas: on a date?

Marshall: yeah, like a goodbye date. a last time to really enjoy it all before we go our separate ways forever

Nicolas: that won't make it easier, you know that right?

Marshall: I know

Nicolas: I'll be there


	60. My Brain's Gone, My Soul's Worn, My Spirit Is Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall and Nicolas fly south to watch a football game. But Marshall is not feeling well.

He should've aborted the plan. _You never do what you should, homo._ They were broken up, sort of, they shouldn't be on a date. A goodbye date, how desperate that sounded. _You're one desperate motherfucker, bitch, always pining for a dick to suck._ The perfect way to make one last-ditch effort in being the worst boyfriend ever, wrapping up all his failures in a cute little bow. _Ain't nothing cute about you, slut, however many skirts and bras you put on._ "I wanted it to be a surprise?", Marshall defended and rubbed his neck nervously.

A shake of his head and Nicolas smiled softly. »You are a surprise.«

Was that a good thing? Probably not anymore. Not that a playoff game was any kind of surprise that could sneak up on you. And for that matter, it wasn't any kind of quality date either. Marshall had the urge to apologize again like a broken record stuck on the same sad chord. For what this time? He wasn't too sure but probably everything. _How about that you can't get your ass on his dick? You've been dating for months and he barely got to fuck you. That needs an apology, fag._ Agreed, but it was too late now. No sex for Marshall no more. _Pff, you ain't keeping that up for a minute, slut. Your pussy's always wide open._ He was determined. Whatever that counted for, it had achieved some victories in his life. Without determination he would've never impressed Dre enough to sign him. But other than that? Biting the apology down, he kneaded his lips between his teeth and followed Nicolas up the staircase into the plane.

The interior was evocative of a lounge at a high-end hotel, a lot of white leather and fine wood. It wasn't totally outrageous to charter a private plane, at least not in a position like his. It wasn't even a big plane and the flight wasn't long either, just a quick hop south to watch the game, a little weekend trip. Still felt like he was flexing his bank account: Look at poor little Marshall too famous to fly on a normal plane like a mere mortal, and: A couple thousand dollars, just a bit of pocket change he wouldn't even notice he spent. _Couldn't have said it better. Plus, you can always make it back by selling yourself. A well lit stage for you to show off your ass and tits and ka-ching! Pandering always works._ He was a performer not a hooker. Shouldn't his own thoughts know this better? _Ain't a difference to you, slut. We both know the real you._ Which was a rapper and songwriter. _Don't play dumb, bitch, you ain't the girl next door._ Marshall huffed about himself and put his bag down next to the couch. He fell into a cushy seat.

Nicolas sat next to him and was leaning over the backrest to examine the shelves above. Behind the glass was a row of books and Marshall had asked to include some new volumes from serials he knew Nicolas read. The man looked at him with quizzically raised eyebrows, probably realizing this right this second.

Marshall avoided the eye contact but the shy smile stayed. He winked for the stewardess to serve their drinks. For the sad occasion Marshall had the red drink he only knew because of Nicolas and the lemon pop the man liked so much stood in front him. _Lame! If you wanna win him back, you need to get your tits out or something. It's a fucking plane, it's an exotic place for sex even without you trying. But our little gay looking boy can't get it up._ He could get it up for Nicolas just fine! _Then show me, slut!_ But he promised to not have sex again. _Who you promise that to? It's a plane, you gonna be hundreds of miles above the clouds, promises don't count up here._ They would always count to him. Marshall took promises rather seriously. _You broken a lot of them, though. What's one more? It's like your money, you won't even notice._

A sad sigh. Wasn't that the truth? But just because he had been a horrible person in the past didn't mean he had to be the same horrible person in the future. He wanted to change. He was working fucking hard to change and become a better person. _You are who you are: a dirty slut. What's so bad about it? You love it, the guys that bang you love it, everyone wins. Well, except for this poor sap. He gets strung along and suffers through your crap and you won't even let him fuck you one last time, fag. When did you become this much of a party pooper? _He was making a good decision with this. Somebody had to look out for him and apparently Marshall was the only one who cared. _Since when do you care? Bitch, please, you haven't cared about yourself since, what, first grade?, kindergarten?, possibly ever?_ As if somebody that young had the capacity for that yet. Besides, just because he hadn't cared all that much in the past, didn't mean he couldn't start caring now. _True, but seems like a bit of a waste. You have much more fun when you don't care. Hey, I got an idea for this weekend trip! Why don't you two lovebirds take the edge off with a couple shots and see what happens? I'm sure he'd be thrilled to get into the Mile High Club with you. I mean, that's what private planes are for._

Marshall rubbed his temple annoyed with himself. Of course it was a tempting idea to do something quick and horny on the plane and yes, a private plane was suited better for this. But he promised himself to not have sex again. And also, he was sober and took that serious. It would take him down the wrong path if he did a couple of shots, he'd been here before, he rather stay on the right side of things. No exceptions. _Fucking killjoy! Can't believe I'm stuck with you. At least your boo can get away from you … Well, after you pulled out your claws from his meat. Not sure why you cling to him of all people. Not ugly for a man I guess but Ryan has the better dick no doubt. Ryan's bigger, thicker and doesn't hesitate to shove it in your ass. You can't live on blowjobs alone, slut, you need more than that._ It wasn't all about dicks and blowjobs and sex, Nicolas understood that. There were other things in life tha- _Oh God, no! Don't come with this shit about there's more to life than sex and that feelings are important, too, and all of that bullshit. You don't fucking have feelings. You're either horny or angry, that's the only two modes you have. All you are is a slut and an addict, you don't need feelings but a nice buzz for once. Don't pretend you're deep or sophisticated, when all you is is a meat bag with two holes that don't get stuffed often enough._

Closing his eyes, Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose. _Don't you fucking cry on me, homo_. He wasn't crying. All this hateful rambling was exhausting, that was all. _Oh sure, then what's that wet thing from your eyes, piss?_ Wasn't it enough words for one day? He wanted to enjoy this last date, to spend a little bit of time with a person he actually liked before that relationship was all broken, too. _Fuck you, homo! How's this a date? You don't wanna blow him. There's a whole fucking weekend in front of you to fuck each other's brains out, but oh no Mr. I'm-too-good-to-fuck-my-boyfriend doesn't wanna put out. He's only here to fuck with a dirty slut, but you wanna turn into the Virgin Mary now all of a sudden. It's a little late for that, don't you think? I'm sure there's a cap on how many nights you can repent for at a time. You probably gonna need to say different prayers for banging chicks and banging guys, God's a little iffy with that. I bet it still wouldn't be enough, you don't regret anything. You loved every second of it._ He hadn't loved every second of it and there were things he did regret. _Don't lie to me, slut, I know you. I am you._ He didn't regret it strong enough to wish he could change anything, but enough to wish for the future to be different. His sex life was a disaster and Marshall was done with it. He wanted for his life to be better. Staying sober for more than two years was a sign that he could change, he could make the right decisions and put them into practice. He wasn't bound to his impulses. If he could do it with drugs, there was no reason to think he couldn't do it with sex as well. _No more sex, that's the worst idea ever. You had a lot of pretty bad ideas over the years, but this tops them all. Not under my watch, little gay looking boy, I won't have you turn into a grumpy little bitch. What's with my fun, eh? Be more considerate here, slut. There ain't much fun to be had with you anymore, sex is all you leave me with._

The red drink was cool in his throat, the glass was cool against his forehead. Marshall took a deep breath and held it in while he slowly counted to ten, then a slow exhale. These thoughts would go away … eventually. Long been nagging at him to break his sobriety, to drink a beer or two or a glass of wine or just a couple Vicodin to take the stress away. But it had subsided after a while and turned into a whisper he could usually mute. There was always music playing somewhere, and if not he was writing some. His thoughts had found a different topic to yammer about, most recently sex and it was one they had always enjoyed yammering about, but they could find something else again.

_Why would I? Sex is much better than drugs, at least if you do it right. You usually don't. But your boo over here has some nice tricks up his sleeve, he gets you all zoned out and high with his toys and shit. And Ryan's so eager to fuck you into oblivion, I don't even need to do anything to get him going. Besides, half the reason you drank beer in the first place was to have an easy excuse to get dicked down. All like 'oh, I was so drunk I didn't even notice I fucked a guy' - still cracks me up. Now you let loose without drugs, I can get behind that. Slightly dull, but that fits you better._

A dull life was what his future should hold.

_The fuck you talking 'bout? Your life's awesome! You have all the money you need, nice houses and nice cars and nice shoes and everything. You have a fucking private plane! You spend all your day rapping and people praise you for it. In fact, they worship the ground you're walking on because you can rhyme really nice. How crazy is that? You can fuck whoever you want whenever you want. Not like in the old days trying to find some easy chick to hook up with in a sleazy bar with an even sleazier bathroom; or with some guys in an alley behind that same sleazy bar. You can just flick your fingers and any hoe sits on your dick - or a dick's in your mouth, whatever fits your mood. Maybe both. You can buy a high-end prostitute who gets really freaky with you or you can have some dirty groupie in the tour bus or you stroll through a mall and find some innocent boytoy to defile. Something I really wanna try one of these days._

Dull was normal. What was all the sex worth when he woke up in an empty bed? When there was no one who cared about him or liked him enough to stay? What was all the money worth when he was still miserable? Buying happiness didn't work, it only made everything fake and make-believe. What had he to believe in? What was all the praise worth when nobody was able to understand him? When people hated him out of principle? When there wasn't a person behind the mask anymore?

_Crybaby! That ain't normal, it's a pipe dream. Your bed always been empty and you was always hated. Your mom told you to die, that says it all, doesn't it. You always be miserable and you know why? 'Cause happiness is boring and it'll kill you from the inside. You're a fucktoy and you lucked out. What more you want? Celebrate! Do drugs and fuck around, hear them cheers and marry a groupie when you feel lonely. I'm sure her fake love's kitschy enough, your heart doesn't know how to feel anyway. You didn't die young, now see how long you can go for._

He didn't want to be a toy.

_No fairy dust can turn you into a real boy._

"Marshall?" Nicolas's dark voice was almost inside his ear, warm breath grazing the skin. Leaning close Nicolas's eyes stared at him from under a frown.

As their eyes met, Marshall sat up straight and rubbed his hands over his face as to wake himself up. "Must've dozed off", he mumbled. The ghost of the leather was clearly felt against his cheek smooth and cool. He felt sluggish and weary as if awoken from a deep sleep he had involuntarily fallen into. "Are we there yet?" How long had he been thinking too much?

Nicolas simply shook his head.

Marshall's chest deflated with a long sigh. Not that dates were any good or much fun when people did them right, but being this bad was the wrong kind of achievement. This was the last speck of time they would spend with each other and he couldn't get out of his fucking head. Besides, this date sucked. Watching a game wasn't a good date and on top of that Nicolas wasn't big into sports to begin with, not into ball sports anyway. Sure, you didn't need words to enjoy a good game, but this particular barrier between them was becoming small. They had talked through some deep topics and understood each other well enough, so this was a petty excuse. The real reason for all of this: Marshall wanted to see the game and was clingy enough to think bringing his boyfriend along would be a good idea. _Clingy is a good word for this. You broke up with him, remember? But if there's one truth about you - besides being a good mouth to fuck - it's that you can't leave people alone. It took you like twenty years to actually break up with Kim for good and she was a nightmare, not even a hot one. You gonna have this dance a couple more times, won't you?_ He didn't think Nicolas would go for that. The man had principles and in general cared very little about people, there was no reason for him to stick around any longer. _He's flying with you across the country 'cause you wanna see a game. He's way too much into you, slut._ Maybe that was pity and misplaced generosity? Nicolas had been frequently too nice. _Misplaced, yeah right. He should place his dick in your horny ass, bitch, that's the reconciliation you want._ He shouldn't have asked Nicolas to come. _True, you should've asked Ryan. He be nailing you by now, guaranteed, that dick knows how to use you right._

»You seem distracted«, Nicolas signed, eyes intently watching.

"Just some thoughts, I'm fine." His chest was tightening at the thought of Ryan's dick, excitement and trepidation. The words right, in his head and from Ryan's mouth, but also wrong. Hopefully. Unlikely.

The unreflecting black eyes held on to him tight, the dark shadows underneath were a pool of worry and heartache. »What you need me to do?«

Marshall frowned puzzled, "What?"

»To make your thoughts go away, what can I do?«, Nicolas signed in precise gestures.

But Marshall shook his head. "It's okay, I'm fine, don't worry."

»But I worry«, Nicolas insisted, »I care about you and that means I worry when you're not fine.« The sincerity and genuineness in his signs was drowning out everything, the stoic expression Nicolas often wore and the mean smirk he had perfected, the nonchalant shrugs he dismissed most things with - it all sank into the black holes he had for eyes that didn't let any light escape but pain.

"I'm fine", Marshall muttered, but his own anguish rose to the top as if attracted by Nicolas's worry. What had his therapist said? Humans bonded through pain more deeply than through happiness. But they couldn't be together.

»I don't want to make this worse but … I don't think you are and I don't think keeping quiet is helping.« Nicolas was sitting too close.

_He ain't sitting close enough, his dick ain't in you and that's the only thing important here. Let me see some action._ "I don't need your help." How were his thoughts so much that they bothered someone else? _I'm that good, little gay looking boy. I made you a career, I can make you some sex._

»You want to talk about music?«, Nicolas asked.

"You don't care about music", Marshall dismissed the suggestion. _Even people who care get bored with you, you don't ever shut up. Know what would make this better? Get on your knees and suck his dick._ Marshall bit his lower lip and it hurt.

»If I can, let me help you«, Nicolas signed and it almost seemed like he pleaded.

Marshall shook his head. He didn't know what to do with his hands, only that his tendons were hurting from the strain to not move. No sex, he had to- _Fuck your bullshit! You want to hump him, do it. You love to have dick inside you, fag, and you know it. This is the goodbye you had in mind, all sweaty and moaning._

»I can see your thoughts swirling inside your head«, Nicolas kept insisting.

"Just give it a minute, it'll stop." Uncomfortable Marshall shifted in his seat. _You can't stop, slut. What else you gonna do? You're on this earth to be fun for others._

»I did but it didn't help«, Nicolas answered, there was hesitance to his signing. »It's not just now, is it?«

"I'm fine", Marshall swatted the words away. "We broke up, I'm allowed to feel down." _You ain't sad, you're just horny and can't get a dick inside you. Maybe you should've brought your toy, a fake dick's better than nothing._ True, but that's the point: He had to learn how to live with nothing. His nails were digging into his palms, the fist closed so tight it was shaking. _You are nothing, there's your lesson. Why aren't you on your knees yet? Bitch, I'ma push you down myself if I have to._

A soft, thoughtful nod, »Always. Just … I don't think this is that. I don't think … You don't mean a word you've been saying this whole time, do you? Something's wrong with you and … and whatever's going on in your head right now that isn't really you, is it?«

The frown on Marshall's face tightened and deepened. "_Fuck you, asshole, I'm the realest._ When I tell you I don't wanna date you anymore, I mean it, aight." _You don't need him, slut, we find someone else for you. How about the pilot? I'm sure he could use some stress relief and I don't see the stewardess putting her mouth around his dick yet. You can be the first!_

Nicolas let out a deep sigh. »I know your daughters come first and I respect that, but … it doesn't seem like this is what you want, like … You want to keep dating me - we are on a date right fucking now. What am I supposed to think?«

"Then don't fucking come", Marshall snarled back. It felt like his spine was jumping out of him. "I don't fucking need you. You don't fucking care anyway, you're just here for some more kinky sex. That's all this is to you." Again his chest constricted under the lie that was true. _Don't let this fucker in, slut, he's just a dick to fill up your needy hole. You don't have feelings and you don't need him making some. Just get on your knees and start sucking, that's all you need. You're a whore - now, move! _The fingers unclenched and Marshall's hand moved over to Nicolas. The body radiated warmth like always and he could almost feel the many tiny scars under his fingertips - almost. He grabbed a fistful of Nicolas's crotch, the olive green cargo pants barring any skin to skin contact. Longing was crawling up Marshall's arm.

Nicolas tried to pull the wrist away. "I'm here because I missed you", he said and his deep voice was like thunder, "Because I don't wanna be fucking dumped by you again."

For a long second Marshall stared at Nicolas with wide eyes. The words had to be true, thunder was the sound of pure energy unleashed. Missing someone was a powerful, aching feeling Marshall knew too well.

"You're not well right now and I don't know how much you mean what you say or … or if I should even tell you that it fucking hurts. I try very hard to not be a bad person to you but you, you say shit like this all the time. I shouldn't be here, but I want to be with you and … I want you to be well enough so that you can say what you really want, that I know what this even is. But I don't know how to help you." When he swallowed hard, Nicolas's Adam's apple bopped visibly and the muscles in his jaw tensed under the pale skin.

His hand whipped back instantly. "Fuck", Marshall muttered and doubled over himself, his arms rested on his thighs and his face was buried in his hands. This break-up he was fucking up as badly as the relationship itself. How could one person be so bad at all of this? This was too fucking hard! _I told you so, fag, you don't have feelings, you think with your pussy. It's what makes you a good whore: no brains, all hole. _He shouldn't have asked Nicolas to come to this sorry excuse of a date. They were broken up for fuck's sake! He shouldn't have started dating the man in the first place. He was only hurting Nicolas and the man didn't deserve it. _You're a clingy bitch, slut. I'm sure you can make this up to him. Get down on your knees and blow him. Ain't that nice? You don't wanna let go of his dick, so deep-throat him instead. Problem solved._

Weakly he was shaking his head, his hands darkening out the world around him. Sex wasn't a solution, never had been but now even less so. Marshall had to be strong, he had to resist. He didn't want - couldn't scare his daughters again. He was sick and needed help. All of this was wrong. _Only thing wrong here is that your holes are empty. There's a perfectly good dick sitting right next to you, slut, use it. You know you want to. You know you love it. You know you crave it. You lust for him to fill you up and cover you in cum. You dream of-_

A hand tentatively touched his shoulder. "Marshall?", Nicolas asked and his voice was a low rumble shaking Marshall's thoughts into a tumble.

He shook his head, face still hidden in his hands, not able to face Nicolas. The turmoil inside him clamored and clawed against the bones of his skull. He was lucky his daughters didn't hate him after all the shit he put them through.

_The girls ain't here, fag. You're miles high in the sky and miles away from home, they don't need to know. So, you gonna drop down to your knees or what? I'm sick of your whining and I'm sure he's too. Open your holes and all this mess'll take care of itself. I promise._

With a rush he pushed his lips against Nicolas's, two thin lines that shot lightning through Marshall's nerves. A jerk went through both their bodies as Nicolas hit the back of the seat again, the force of the kiss pushing him into the cushions. Marshall's hands were cupping the angular face, he needed to hold on to something before he drowned. Between his fingers he felt the soft, spiky hair from the back of Nicolas's neck stroke against his skin. The kiss was all want and force and desperation, lips touching and voices whimpering.

One of Marshall's hands wandered down, only briefly a touch beneath the black t-shirt and he felt the big, broad scar underneath his fingertips. A scar sex had left on Nicolas's hip. His fingers impatiently pulled at the button of the cargo pants until it popped open, the zipper was pulled down easier. Finally his hand could reach inside Nicolas's pants, finally Nicolas's dick was held between his fingers. In this moment it was still soft, but Marshall's fingers stroked and kneaded it confident to make it hard soon. The smooth leather of the couch made it easy to slide off of it and for Marshall to kneel in between the other man's legs, even if he had to give up kissing him. Only a small, worthwhile price to pay if he wanted to have Nicolas's handsome dick in his mouth, and Marshall needed it dearly.

A strong grip around both of Marshall's wrists yanked him upright, Nicolas's rough fingers held tight like a pair of pliers. "Don't."

"But I need to make this right", he talked back. He had hurt Nicolas so many times, he was fucking up their relationship and their break-up, he hadn't been able to give Nicolas what he wanted. _So get your head down and your mouth open. Talking won't make this better, only sucking his dick will._ Marshall struggled against the grip, trying to bend his head down and reach the handsome, lonely dick with his mouth. But the grip on his wrists was too tight.

Nicolas's face was drawn into a frown, the lines sharp and serious, the thin lips pressed against each other and almost disappearing. "You need to treat yourself better than this."

Hadn't he said this before? "But I hurt you", Marshall defended himself, "I need to make it up to you." Again he wriggled his wrists to get out of the rough grip, but it didn't give in a single inch.

"Yes, you hurt me."

A shiver went up Marshall's spine as the dark voice admitted to his crime, needles prickling in the back of his neck. Sharply he bit down on his lower lip. Their pretense was over for good. He had hurt Nicolas, a truth neither of them could escape from any longer. How could he make it right? _You can't, slut, you won't do nothing right, never._

Nicolas looked him right in the eye, black holes that sucked in all light. "But I want more from you."

Marshall swallowed hard and nodded, he blinked the blurriness away. "Of course, everything." He tried to move again but the rough grip held tight still. "You can fuck me however you want." As if Nicolas needed permission, strong and ruthless he could just take what he wanted and Marshall wouldn't have anything to fight back.

A sour huff. "Everyone can", and the syllables were a little too long.

For a second Marshall closed his eyes, pain beat sharply in his chest, his ribs too small to hold it in. Of course Nicolas must've seen it all this time, how ugly and useless and loathsome Marshall was, but the illusion of being pretty and useful and adored just this once had been powerful. Powerful enough he had believed it for a second. He shouldn't have.

"I want more from you." The fingers clawed into Marshall's bones and it hurt.

_There ain't more, slut, this is all you are. _Nicolas had a right to it all. They had been a couple, only for a short time but it had felt real nonetheless, like they were special to each other, like Nicolas was ready to sacrifice so much for Marshall, like they were good for each other. Now it was all too late. But Marshall wanted to give something back, he wanted to show that any of this had meant something to him after all, that Nicolas being his boyfriend would be a memory he'd treasure. What was he to give? "There ain't more", he whispered and the admission was painful.

Nicolas pulled him up by his wrists, almost pulling him off his knees. Their faces came close together, their breath mingled between them. "There's always more", the soft consonants made it sound true and eternal. "I want you to be mine. Right down to your core, all of you's mine."

His throat constricted and his eyes stung, biting his lips didn't take it away. God knew Nicolas deserved it, he should have it all and Marshall wanted to make it true. His limbs were taut with longing and the yearning in his stomach fluttered eagerly. His neck was too bare, bitterly realizing the collar had been left at home, an obvious sign that Marshall couldn't make it true. He couldn't fulfill Nicolas's wishes. "My core is rotten", he whispered another painful admission.

"Your core is beautiful", Nicolas answered in the same beat, his deep rumble like a force of nature unstoppable and unmovable. A quake reaching into every crack of Marshall's bones. Their gazes held on to each other. Nicolas's eyes smoldered in their sockets, a low gleam pierced through the absorbing, suffocating blackness. Awe and tenderness. There was no way those words couldn't be true.

_Only thing beautiful about you is how your hole stretches when a dick fucks you raw, or two be better and one in your mouth. Your core is hollow, whore, just a hole for a dick to fuck you. Just some meat with nothing in the middle, open wide, slut. Only filling you up with cum gives you an inside. You don't feel anything but the stretch on your hole. That's how you know you're still alive: when a dick fucks you in two._

Marshall stared into Nicolas's eyes but his vision blurred. "Help me." His body trembled in tension, unable to break out of the grip and unable to follow through with this. He needed to, but he wasn't strong enough.

Fingers still rough Nicolas pulled him into a hug, all tight and soft at the same time. A hand was firmly holding the back of Marshall's neck, the other drew gentle circles across his back.

_Fucking pussy! Who wants to fuck a whiny little bitch like you? This ain't how you get his dick inside you. If anything, this'll how you make his balls shrivel up. Great going, fag. Stupid bitch, spread your legs, let's get this party started!_

Tremors shook his body. His hands clung to the black t-shirt hard, the fabric scraping harshly against his skin, his fingers a ball of taut muscles. The undeserved tenderness broke a sob out of his throat and it dissipated against Nicolas's neck, warm soft skin Marshall buried his face in. Why kept the world turning?

"I'm here", and Nicolas's dark voice was strong in Marshall's ear.

It was almost comforting. "_Who cares? You're just a dick for my pussy to eat. I'll eat you whole, dawg, like an anaconda, lightning in my throat. First I go after ya, tiger on the prowl, put my claws and fangs in ya. The reaper in disguise, a choking hazard. I put you down to your knees and life's out of ya with a squeeze. Let me feed on ya, I'ma suck you dry. I'm heading to the skies._" He felt the t-shirt fabric tear slightly beneath his fingers that dug hard into it and tore at it, his limbs shook with need he swore not to give in to anymore.

"I'm here", Nicolas repeated, voice still strong.

Marshall shook his head. "_Nobody needs you, asshole. Your dick ain't special, it's just meat for me to swallow. My shtick's fresher after blowing you hollow and then five more fellas throw their dicks in my face. Who needs air? Not me, I don't breath, yeah. But I breeze through any locker room and get the team on my back side. It's all about pride. What's the score? Eighty-five and still shootin' high-_", the next words mushed together, a gargling sound.

Rough fingers gripped Marshall's jaw tight and stopped it from moving, stopped it from saying more words. Nicolas stared into his eyes, determination glowering. "I can't hear you."

The strength in the hand was easily felt, effortlessly holding Marshall in place by rough fingers alone. It felt like his jaw would be ripped from his skull if he moved. Marshall closed his eyes thankful. _Fucking bitch! Suck his dick!_ The pressure on his jaw spread through Marshall's bones and pushed away the strain his thoughts created. From the rough fingertips stillness crawled through his muscles and cooled down his blood. His mouth was barred from moving, no words to say and nothing to suck, just stillness and immovability. His own hands couldn't do nothing but hold on to Nicolas's wrist, keeping his body together more important than to touch and jerk off a dick. His body had to hang in there, knees off the ground but not high enough for his feet to have a stable stance, finding balance was hard, a new strain in his legs. _Wrap your legs around his waist, get your ass on his dick, show him how a slut works out._ Not a word his thoughts threw at him could move him out from the harsh grip. He belonged to Nicolas, a man who didn't know mercy. "Hmm …", a breathy moan left his throat.

A kiss just as harsh as the hand before locked his lips, the hand sliding down to his neck and squeezing just as tightly.

_Yes! Finally some action here! He knows what to do, bitch. He'll fuck you good, watch it. _Marshall screwed his eyes shut. His lips moved eagerly with the rough kiss, his tongue greedily reached out for more. Was this the more Nicolas was talking about? Of course sucking him off wasn't kinky sex, Marshall hadn't been good in making that come to life between them. If this could make it better how he had hurt Nicolas, it was worth it. He belonged to Nicolas even if there wasn't anything about him to own, he was a hollow, rotten core. His promise would need to wait.

Sorry.

But the kiss ended abruptly. Before Marshall could say anything, Nicolas's other hand was covering his mouth. Like a cage of fingers Marshall was locked in the other's grip, head held firmly in place, neck squeezed tightly.

"To take, one first has to give", the deep voice was like a threat that made Marshall's limbs shiver. "You are mine, you will obey my word."

Marshall closed his eyes again, the blurriness seeped out at the corners. His breath hit against the hand covering his mouth and he could smell cool stones after rain. Those words, he knew them already. The night of the photo, all hot and needy and at Nicolas's mercy until Marshall had to ruin it. Were they picking up where they had left off?

"I'm the only one who hurts you", Nicolas continued, "You are my adorable slut."

Yes, he was. Marshall opened his eyes again, a short and strong nod agreed with his boyfriend.

Nicolas mirrored the nod slightly. "Before I can take you as mine, I have to give you peace", the syllables were a little too long, a sound of comfort. Even though the hands were rough and tight Nicolas's eyes had a certain softness to them. A softness only understanding could bring. "Before it's only me who hurts you, you have to stop hurting yourself."

The blurriness was back and he could feel tears in the corners of his eyes. As much as he was Nicolas's, no sorely missed collar could make this true. He couldn't fulfill Nicolas's wish. _You're a waste of life_, but Nicolas's hand on his mouth kept him from saying it out loud.

"You're my adorable slut", Nicolas continued, "My Ice Princess and my kitten. That, which you cannot love yourself, I will love for you. The moments you cannot be strong yourself, I will be strong for you. When you want to run away, I will stay with you. The promises you can't help but break I will keep for you. The truth you can't see yet I will keep showing you and the lies you can't rise above I will beat down for you. I want more from you than just sex, I want the whole of you. And I will take from you what I deserve, but you won't have to give yourself up for me. Do you understand?"

Marshall squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. This was too much. His chest burned and his ribs ached, his lungs were out of air and his heart was out of blood.

"Look at me", Nicolas demanded.

His eyes opened, but tears smeared his vision. Still the glowering determination and the smolder in Nicolas's black eyes was overwhelming.

"Yes, you hurt me and yes, I deserve better from you. You will make it up to me, but not here and not now. It will be my choice. I won't let your pain come between us and I won't let anyone hurt you but me."

Another soft nod. Marshall had nowhere to go but with Nicolas, the hands tight around his throat and smothering every word out of his mouth. What else was he to do? _You're supposed to suck his dick, bitch! Fuck his brains out! You don't have any left anyway. Make him shut up!_ But he couldn't. He was clinging to Nicolas's wrist and his body couldn't balance without any ground to kneel or stand on right. Marshall couldn't move and he couldn't talk. All he could was hang from Nicolas's hands and listen. _Listen to me, fucking slut! Get his fucking dick inside your fucking hole! That ain't hard, goddamnit! You're a fucktoy, not more! None of this is true and you know it! Nobody likes you! He don't like you, he just waiting to dick you down raw! _What's there to wait for? They had been dating for months, they had spent lust filled nights with each other, had cuddled each other awake, had made each other laugh. Hell, Nicolas could take him right now and Marshall wouldn't have a chance to fight back.

His heart was burning and the tears kept dripping. Marshall knew what this was and he wasn't ready for it. _You won't ever be! You don't deserve this, fag! You're a fucking whore! Ugly and useless! You're a waste of life! When you don't have a dick inside you, you shouldn't exist! You're a fucking nobody! Without a dick inside, you're nothing!_ True, but it didn't matter any longer. Nicolas was here. Nicolas knew all of these words, had seen them in action with his own eyes, but he was still here. He still wanted to be Marshall's boyfriend. _You can't even spell love, slut!_ He didn't have to.

Slowly but unmistakably the pressure left his limbs, the tension was draining out of his muscles and tendons. Instead of holding on to Nicolas's wrist as his last chance to support himself, Marshall let go of it. All that was holding him up was the rough grip around his throat, his legs bent at a useless angle between kneeling and standing. His freed hands reached out for Nicolas and buried their fingertips in the spiky black hair. It was so much softer than it looked. The warmth Nicolas radiated from every part of his body was soothing to his nerves and crept up his arms.

It was for the best that Nicolas made the choices as long as Marshall couldn't.

The harsh grip softened and turned into a hug, close and warm. The rough fingertips were caressing Marshall's neck, but also found a way underneath his t-shirt and warmth spread from Marshall's lower back. A relieved sigh, not enough but better than before.

_Suck his dick!_

Marshall pressed his face into the nook of Nicolas's neck, arms wrapped around the broad shoulders with the tattoo he liked so much. The upper arms around him were strong and built with muscle, tried and tested in too many fights that one more wouldn't even be noticed. Nicolas would fight for him when Marshall hadn't the strength.

_Suck his dick!_

And Nicolas would win.


	61. Remember Me? I'm Low Down and I'm Shifty!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall takes Nicolas on a date, it doesn't go as planned. They stroll around New Orleans for a while but Marshall isn't well.

Above the door of the old villa the date stood proudly: since 1848. That was a damn long time ago. A balcony gave shade, its ornate rail in the green color of old bronze and the windows on the fourth floor glistened in the sun. Once this must have been a jewel in a family's estate, a villa close to the Mississippi. Today it was just a restaurant.

As his gaze connected with Nicolas's, Marshall shrugged.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows skeptically. »Fancy.«

Stepping inside the restaurant was like stepping into another time when wealth had been shown by ornate detail, shiny crystals and gold accents. As they followed a waiter deeper inside, the opulence was everywhere. Tables and chairs had their wood carved into intricate floral patterns, oil paintings of landscapes and people in uniforms and elaborate dresses hung on the walls, from the chandeliers above light emanated through shimmering crystals, the table cloths were embroidered with delicate scenery and the high doors between the rooms had more embellishments carved into them. Timeless elegance was still dated.

The waiter led them into a private room, a small space for only three tables. In here all this abundance was overbearing. Nervous and uncomfortable Marshall sat down, Nicolas opposite. The waiter lit the candle in the middle of the table and handed them the menus printed in cursive-like letters that Marshall could swear looked as if it was handwritten. Maybe it was? With a quill and some real ink, he wouldn't even be surprised. As the waiter excused himself and gave them time to decide on their order, he closed the door and only the low hum of a string quartet was audible in the room. Canned tunes or were there real people playing somewhere in this house?

The skeptical look on Nicolas's face intensified as his gaze went over the room examining the decorations and watching a different time unfold in front of them. »This is … very French«, he finally concluded. His simple outfit of a black t-shirt and olive green cargo pants looked comically out of place in here.

_Bitch, this kitsch is kill-_ Marshall's equally simple combination of white t-shirt, black hoodie and dark jeans didn't fit either. »It's private«, he signed back. Privacy was at the top of his priorities, especially when he was on a date with his boyfriend. That didn't need to be known to the public. A soft buzz in his pants, his cell phone notifying him of a new message.

»Sure, private …«, Nicolas didn't seem convinced. He leaned forward and looked more closely at the candle in the middle of the table. His eyebrows were drawn into a frown. »There's a baby on the candle. A naked baby.«

»What?«, Marshall leaned forward himself and turned the candle around to see better. Indeed, a chubby baby was outlined with a gold trim in the wax of the candle. Why? »Weird.«

A short puff and Nicolas blew out the candle. Taking it from their table, he walked it over to one of the guestless tables in this room. He was not having it.

Marshall risked a glimpse to his phone, curious who messaged him. Paul and Tracy knew not to send anything if it wasn't important. The lock screen read Worick's name. Huh?

Sitting back down, Nicolas signed: »I'm not looking at a naked baby while I eat.«

Marshall could only nod in agreement, he was totally fine with this move. Why was Worick sending him a text? Since the accidental flirt and the night Marshall had bailed on, they had only exchanged a handful of meaningless messages.

»Something happened?«, Nicolas asked with a short gesture to Marshall's side where his phone slipped back into his jeans pocket.

He shook his head. »Nah, just a friend texting a stupid joke. It's not even funny.« Marshall opened the menu but the wavy letters made it hard to read, the French names of the dishes didn't help matters. »It's on me, so you can order whatever you want, no worries.« _A spendy date won't-_ He expected to pay way too much for way too little. It was one of those places that didn't bother to put the prices on the menu. If you had to think about money, you shouldn't be here, evidently.

Instead of looking at it, Nicolas's menu sat next to him on the table untouched and unread. _See, he just wanna fuck yo-_

»What?«, Marshall asked puzzled. »You're going by luck?« Probably the same result as trying to make sense of this gibberish. Mushroom-madeira demi-glace - what did that mean?

»This place is pretentious as fuck«, Nicolas answered dryly.

Marshall shrugged. »They all are. It tastes okay, mostly.« Fine cuisine like this was a little lost on his tastebuds - _anything but a nice dick down is lost-_ but it wasn't the worst tradeoff for a little private room.

»So what?«, Nicolas was unfazed.

»You don't like it here«, Marshall realized and put the menu aside. Of course this was too much, neither of them belonged in a place like this. Marshall wasn't upper-class just because he had the money for it now and Nicolas, well, he lived at the opposite end of the social ladder. When he had thought of this trip some time ago, he had wanted for it to be fun and romantic, to enjoy the illusion between them of being a real couple - and then they had been one for a short moment. _He ain't here for romance, slu-_ An upscale dinner like this had worked on Kim often enough and brought her into a generous, amorous mood, but that Nicolas wasn't this kind of person Marshall should've known.

»Do you?«, Nicolas asked back skeptical.

A low sigh. »Not really«, Marshall admitted. All this display of wealth and luxury made him uncomfortable, like he was staining something noble with his presence alone, that he was about to ruin something delicate and beautiful. But he wanted their time together to be special and great. »It's a bit much, but it's private«, and that trumped everything.

»Is it really that bad? I mean, nobody expects you here, right?«

»It's not as wild as it used to be, but …«, Marshall bit his lips, »And don't take this the wrong way but…I can't really be seen with you. Like with a boyfriend, I'm a rapper, that clashes too much, you know what I mean?« News that explosive shouldn't be discovered by paparazzi. If he ever made this public, it needed careful handling and strategy.

»I promise, I won't kiss you outside the hotel room«, Nicolas raised his hand in oath for a second, »Scout's honor, I swear.«

Marshall chuckled, Nicolas in a Boy Scout's uniform was one funny image.

»Let's go somewhere with a little more life and a little more …«, Nicolas looked around the room again, »Somewhere that's a little more in the 21st century.« He picked up a napkin with an old-fashioned laced border to emphasize his point.

There probably were other private and more interesting places in this city, New Orleans had a lot to offer and it was less infested with paparazzi than L.A. or New York. If a fan or two recognized him, that wasn't all too bad. »And where do you wanna go instead?« _I know a good place, slut._

»We could just walk around and see what we find?«, Nicolas suggested with a carefree shrug.

»So much for being prepared, huh?«, Marshall joked softly. »Yeah, no, I can't really do something like that. Especially not without bodyguards.« Which sucked, but this was his life. Just having Big Eight around wasn't enough muscle for a leisurely stroll around downtown. Crowds could form a lot faster than you expected and they got out of control easier, too.

Nicolas stood up again, eager to get out of this place. »Don't worry your cute little head«, he signed and took Marshall's hand, pulled him out of the chair. "I protect you", he said and the bass of his voice was all confidence and certainty. With a bow, he kissed the back of Marshall's hand. "I'm at your service."

"I ain't a fair lady", Marshall answered slightly ridiculing all of this, but the smile on his lips was joyful. _Little gay looking boy, you're so lost._

Nicolas cocked his head and with a curt swirl of his finger gestured around the restaurant, a place perfect for a fair lady to dine in.

»Shut up«, Marshall signed with one hand.

»You're my Ice Princess«, Nicolas signed and softly, briefly kissed Marshall, »The fairest of ladies and one to have a kick-ass date tonight.«

_Your girly ass-_ The praise in those words was hard to miss. Even if Marshall had cried on the flight over and was constantly demonstrating how much of a wuss he could be, Nicolas wasn't badmouthing him. His compliments could be strange, but only because he truly meant them and because he saw Marshall in a way nobody else did. As vibrant with every facet of life, some of them soft and warm and others hard and cold, and everything in between. To be seen as more felt good and Marshall clung to it.

Sadly, he couldn't keep holding Nicolas's hand. Fingertips prickled wishful as their hands let go of one another and they left the room of too much elegance behind them. This wasn't for them. Fast steps led them through the halls of the villa, Marshall was following right behind his boyfriend and the broad shoulders acted like a waymarker for not getting lost in the abundance of 1848, but also for not getting lost in his thoughts and insecurities. _You sentimental faggot!_ Maybe the date he had planned was a disaster and wrong in all the ways, but Nicolas wasn't dwelling on this and instead they could dream up a date all romantic and meaningful and enjoyable together. Wasn't this better anyway?

Bright sunlight was greeting them outside, it hurt a little in Marshall's eyes. Looking up and down the street, he was unsure where to go next. So many signs were hanging from the houses to call them out as bars or hotels or shops, some were brightly colored red or yellow and other houses stone gray like normal. He looked invitingly to Nicolas, gesturing to the street and all these new options in front of them.

Nicolas was doing the same looking up and down the street and deciding what to do next. »Come«, he signed and stepped onto the street. Right across from them was a little confectionary, flowers and masks decorated the store windows next to packages of chocolates. Nicolas led them inside, the air was sweet and the shop was small but everywhere it displayed the pralines, pastries and the bacon pecan brittle it advertised outside. In the counter were all chocolaty treats: peanut butter cups, chocolate dipped oreos, clusters of raisins or pecans in chocolate, chocolate frogs and cajun mud, homemade snickers, marshmallows covered with caramel or chocolate and so much more.

Marshall felt his teeth decay just from looking at it.

But Nicolas was already placing his order, he pointed to the sweets he wanted and held up two fingers each time. Finally he turned to Marshall and asked: »Do you want something?«

Hadn't he ordered for the both of them? It looked like it anyway. Briefly Marshall held up the package of bacon pecan brittle he had picked up, »Just this.«

Nicolas took the package out of his hand and gave it to the woman behind the counter, who packed it with everything else in a bag. A brief exchange of paper bills for paper bag and they could leave the small shop. On Nicolas's face was a decidedly pleased expression.

»Isn't it a bit warm for chocolate?«, Marshall remarked. Coming from their snowy home, the sunny temperatures here felt too warm for January and too warm in general.

»Then we better hurry«, Nicolas answered untroubled.

With that they walked down the street, which direction Marshall wasn't sure but they had a couple hours to kill before the game started, so nothing to worry and nothing to hurry. They came by a jewelry shop called _The Great Frog_ of all things, not something Marshall associated with gold and diamonds. _Bitch, there's more import-_ The houses they came by were mostly two or three stories high, often a balcony with a delicately decorated railing around the higher floors, the architectural style from a century ago. But one of the buildings caught his attention: It looked like a palace. There were tall trees in the front giving shade and hiding the sprawling white building from curious eyes, but Marshall could still make out the decorative heads of the fake columns between the upper floor windows and the masonry art above the entrance that he mistook for a lion's head at first. Somehow this building didn't look like it belonged here.

»Wanna take a picture?«, Nicolas asked a few steps ahead of him and now coming back. A quick gaze examined the massive house, expression cloudy underneath the dark shadows of his eyes. »Looks important.«

It really did. He shrugged, »Why not?«, and took out his phone. He had not thought to bring an actual camera but it was handy that phones had these, too, now. He took a few snapshots of the building.

Nicolas stepped closer to him. »You gotta have to take one of us, too.«

Puzzled he looked at his boyfriend. His puzzlement wasn't cured as Nicolas tried to explain using a sign Marshall didn't know yet.

Without missing a beat, Nicolas took the phone from him and shot a photo of them, the white mass of the palace behind them. It was a crammed picture, cutting both of them off at the sides and blurry as well, but Marshall's confusion was clearly visible in the still. »Perfect«, Nicolas joked with a wink.

Marshall shoved his boyfriend at the shoulder and walked on. Since he had his phone in hand already, he checked for Worick's message: it's open house at my place tonight, wanna come?

Oh, that was a nice surprise. The blonde seemed like the kind of person who found the bright side of life in everything, so a party promised to be tons of fun with him in charge. Marshall answered: not afraid I'm gonna flirt with you again? Then he put the device back in his pocket and turned to his boyfriend: »Do you even know where we're going?«

»Down this street«, Nicolas explained and gestured in front of them.

»So the answer's: no.« He turned to Big Eight to ask the same thing: "You any idea which direction this is?"

Big Eight was walking behind them, a silent shadow. "Towards the water I think."

Maybe they could walk along the river for a few minutes? Marshall would like that. For now they came by a house that had flower boxes hanging from its balcony. It was a restaurant as the sign told and looking through the window Marshall saw a rustic inside, red stone walls and plain wood furniture. That was more his style. »Wanna eat here?«

Nicolas was already holding the door open short of bowing again, a little smirk was on his face as he gestured inside.

Returning the smile briefly but playful Marshall walked in. The inside was a little dim with the red brick walls and arches holding up the dark wooded ceiling, tables and chairs from an even darker wood, but the floor had some yellow shards mixed in-between the red tiles. No detailed ornaments anywhere. Simple and a little rough, that's how Marshall liked it. His gaze traveled through the room, only about a third of the tables were occupied by other guests. Perhaps there was a quiet corner for them to sit and eat in peace?

Big Eight was already talking to the waiter asking this exact thing and without much trouble, they were led up a wooden staircase to the floor above. The atmosphere was the same but even fewer people sat here. Next to a window but away from anyone else they took their seats.

»Much better«, Nicolas gave his verdict, »And no naked babies in eyeshot.«

True, Marshall wouldn't argue with that. »Hope it tastes good, too.«

»We gonna find out«, and Nicolas opened the menu.

Doing the same, Marshall chuckled a few moments later. "Grilled chicken goddess salad? That ain't overstating it at all." But the ingredients sounded like a good combination.

»This is cool. Look, they got-«, Nicolas signed but again used a gesture Marshall didn't know yet: slightly crooked fingers spread out, one hand palm up and the other hand palm down, sort of coming together in a silent clap.

What kind of food was that? Marshall leaned forward to read from his boyfriend's menu, upside down reading was a lot easier than deciphering signs usually. A second later he found the same spot in his own menu and chided himself a doofus. Alligator, of course, the sign was imitating the animal's jaws. Marshall repeated the sign briefly, probably one you didn't need too often but one easy to learn. »You wanna get some alligator?«, he asked, partly to make conversation and partly to try this new sign out in a sentence.

»Probably. Never tried it before«, Nicolas answered. »Have you?«

»Yeah, when you're all over the place on tour there's some opportunity for things like that.« Although he had mostly eaten fast food on his long tours. It was easy, fast and you knew exactly what you got whatever city or country you were in. But every now and then they would have time for a nice meal or just dared each other to eat something exotic and possibly disgusting. He would never eat raw octopus again, didn't feel good in his mouth and didn't taste good either. »I think it's fine, at least I don't remember the opposite and believe me, that sticks in your brain.«

Nicolas smirked, »I can imagine.«

_I can imagine something else, little gay-_ »I'm not big on trying out new food«, Marshall admitted, »Took me a long-ass time to switch to some healthy stuff.« He was a man of habits and that doubly went for food, especially when he had trouble not eating enough or way too much.

»Hm? But don't you like to cook?«, Nicolas asked.

Marshall shrugged indifferent, »Not for myself, no.« It wasn't any fun if you did it alone. _It's like sex, it sucks alo-_ »What else you want, besides alligator?«

»Don't know yet«, and Nicolas browsed through the menu again.

Quickly Marshall knew one thing, he would end up with chicken today. He wasn't much into seafood and there were a lot of fishy dishes on here he had no real desire to try. But aside from that the menu read tasty and exciting. When the waiter came back to take their orders Marshall went with the chicken as predicted, Nicolas on the other hand ordered one of the fishy dishes to his alligator. Oddly fitting. »Whatever floats your boat, man.«

Nicolas shook his head with a silent laugh. »You ever toured somewhere nice?«, he asked, »Like a favorite city or something?«

»Uhm, why?« _Amsterdam! That was great, the drugs-_ »It's mostly too hectic to do some sightseeing and stuff.« Or they had to deal with people telling him he couldn't do drugs on stage or pull his chainsaw out, that had taken the fun out of it back then. Now with less touring and more mellow shows these things didn't come up as much, thankfully.

»That's a bummer.« Nicolas kept looking at him curious.

It was, but he wasn't on the road to relax on the beach but to do his job. »Well, I like Scotland a lot, it's not too hot. I took the girls there for a vacation one summer.« Not the kind of beach vacation his daughters had hoped for but it had been quiet and private and some nice nature around them. What's not to like?

Nicolas sipped from his lemon pop. »Really? That sounds rather … I wanna say boring?«

»I'm a boring guy, what can I say?« There wasn't anything special or exciting about him, he was just some dude. Just Marshall.

»You're a lot of things, boring isn't one of them«, Nicolas signed with an amused grin.

Marshall shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. »I had enough crazy days to last me through the next life. Thanks, I'm good.« _Your sober ass is-_ »But if that's what you wanna know, I have some fond memories of Amsterdam … Some are a little hazy naturally, but good. The time there inspired some of my best songs.« It was a double edged sword that _The Marshall Mathers LP_ was considered a classic and his best work. It undoubtedly was a great album, but he still wanted to do music. It's tough to have your best work behind you. _Then quit and be a hoe for a liv-_

»That's cool«, Nicolas agreed. »I mean, even if you don't get to see all the attractions, it's still cool to see all those places, right?«

»Mostly yes.« In some ways it was very exciting to travel around the world and see new places and meet new people, it expanded your horizon and made you aware of how vast the world was and how wonderfully different it could be. On the other hand, with all the stress and pressure of a tour and the press following you around everywhere, not having a quiet moment to yourself on most days but always expected to give it your all every night with the same high energy and thrill, and to answer the same boring questions with enthusiasm - it was exhausting after a while even if the location was nice. »The places are cool and traveling is some fun, but you miss home after a while and as great as performing is, it takes a lot out of you when you're doing it like every night for months. So, ups and downs I guess.« _You're done whining? Man up, puss-_ »What about you? Got a favorite place somewhere?«

A short shake of his head, Nicolas answered: »Never left Detroit before.«

»Really?«, Marshall found that surprising just a little.

»Well, not technically, but functionally«, Nicolas hardly made the effort to explain.

Marshall frowned slightly. »How so?« Was this one of those moments when he shouldn't know more? Maybe Nicolas only got out of town for his job which Marshall tried not to ask too much about, but with something like this that was hard. How could they be in a relationship if he couldn't even know if Nicolas had traveled around the country or not? _You broke up, bitch, remem-_

»My father had missions in a lot of places but I wasn't allowed to leave the base ever, so I didn't get much out of that. Besides, it's been forever ago«, a short shrug that didn't emphasize the natural way of forgetting things but more how Nicolas didn't want to remember his childhood. »And after that, I stayed in the city. There's always a reason to stay.«

»Sure, I get that.« Especially when getting by was hard already, then traveling to some exotic place fell way down on your priority list. The few bits of Nicolas's life he knew sounded like getting by had been hard most of the time. A feeling Marshall still remembered vividly. »Maybe if you want and got time I can bring you along for a show or two?«, he offered. »I don't do vacations much, but maybe we can add a day and do a little sightseeing or something.«

A soft smile flitted across Nicolas's face. »Yeah, maybe.«

Marshall smiled back just as briefly. His heart felt a little less heavy and a little less selfish, vowing to make Nicolas's real first time traveling into a good experience. Just knowing Nicolas could have fun with this trip even when he didn't care about the football game was lifting Marshall's mood. This wasn't all for naught. _Slut, the most fun thing is a fuck_\- »Is there a place you want to visit one day?«

Nicolas turned his eyes to the window and scratched his cheek, a bashful gesture on anyone else but to see it here was a little surprising. No mean smirk or confident schmaltz, but soft shyness was a rare, unusual sight on this man.

Noticing this, Marshall cocked his head. It probably was the first time he found Nicolas a little … adorable? _Bitch, please! He's a kill-_ Which suddenly made all the times Nicolas had called him that same word better.

»Well, uhm«, Nicolas began his answer with coy signs, »If I could, like if I had the money and the permission to do it and everything I, well … I'd like to go to Japan.«

Marshall couldn't hide the smile on his lips. He'd never seen Nicolas stumble through an answer like this before. »Japan? Sounds cool. You wanna do the anime stuff or the samurai stuff?« He would need to remember this, maybe he could do something for Nicolas's birthday - whenever that was. Nicolas always made it sound as if he didn't like anything, it was sometimes hard to parse out when this wasn't true. There were things his boyfriend - _You broke up, bitch!_ \- was a fan of and gradually Marshall learned to see through Nicolas's modesty.

But now he shook his head. »Not like that, it's … If I could, I'd like to go to Kyoto and do a … uhm, like a traditional tour.« Nicolas broke his signing by drinking from his lemon pop. His black eyes were unsteady, his gaze unfocused and looking anywhere but at Marshall on purpose. The opposite of every other moment they had spent together.

»Traditional tour?«, Marshall asked curious. »What's that?« And why was Nicolas nervous about this? It was amusing to watch, especially because it was such an inconsequential topic in the end. To describe a dream vacation didn't need to make anyone nervous. Unless, perhaps this had to do with Nicolas's desire for kinky sex? Japan and perversion went famously hand in hand.

»It's … So, there are these old, traditional inns and you can do a tour of Japan using those. Kyoto would be a good starting point, since it wasn't … like, they didn't bomb Kyoto as much as the rest of the country, so a lot of the temples and gardens and the palace are still intact. It was the capital city for hundreds of years, there's lots to see.« Despite his bashfulness, Nicolas had a keen energy in his signing. Whyever he was shy about his interest for this city, it was endearing to watch.

»Really?«, Marshall didn't know that. »Sounds like it has a lot of history then.«

Nicolas nodded strongly agreeing. »It also has lots of film sets you can visit, that's pretty cool, and … So, if I could - which I doubt will happen - but if it ever comes to pass, I - uhm, I'd like to go there and travel from inn to inn to see the rest of the country.«

And Marshall wanted to make it happen. Just picturing Nicolas in an old Japanese house, probably with a kimono put on that he looked so handsome in and a bright, happy smile on his face; the image made Marshall's heart flutter and his knees weak. »Sounds like a very good idea for a trip.«

Nicolas took another sip of his lemon pop.

_You broke the fuck up! There ain't gonna be no trips, fag._ Marshall bit his lips and drank from his own pop. This date felt too good. Why was spending time with Nicolas easy and nice? Even on a date he had miscalculated they ended up having a good time anyway. On the one hand Marshall was grateful they were and enjoyed it all, on the other hand they shouldn't when this would be the last time. Just sitting next to Nicolas made him lose control and jump the man, who wasn't really his boyfriend anymore. He needed to keep his promise. No more sex. _Fuck you, bitch!_

»This is a nice trip, too«, Nicolas signed reassuringly.

Before Marshall could answer, the waiter brought their food. Although it was nicely arranged on the plates, it was still enough to fill you up. He was very pleased he was getting his money's worth. The food smelled delicious and tasted even more so, spicy butaromatic and full. Nicolas was sharing the fried alligator between them, which was as much seafood as Marshall could stomach today.

_Suck his dick!_

* * *

»What now?«, Marshall asked when they left the restaurant.

Nicolas pointed down the street. »How about the river? It's close, just down the street.«

It was? Marshall didn't see anything watery looking down the street, just gray asphalt and cars. But he shrugged nonchalantly, »Sure, why not.« He didn't want to impose his own desires on their date, that had backfired already. What good was a stroll along the river anyway? It sounded nice but it turned boring pretty quickly. Nevertheless he liked the idea.

On their way down, more restaurants popped up and a flower market had the doors open, its heavy fragrances spilled onto the street. The people around them payed them hardly any notice, out-of-towners were a daily occurrence and needed no closer look. The sun still shone brightly and the sky was vibrantly blue, a little warm breeze was hitting their faces.

Marshall could almost imagine he wasn't who he was and he hadn't to be careful walking outside. His hands were buried deep in his pants pockets and the want prickled in his fingertips again to touch Nicolas, to feel the rough skin of the other's hands against his own. Maybe to feel soft pressure when Nicolas's thumb would stroke over the back of his hand, their fingers entangled with each other and softly holding on to one another. Just a little touch to be close. But he couldn't. He was who he was and he had to be careful walking outside.

_You're such a pussy._

He took his phone out just for a quick check, just to occupy his hands for a second until this girly, embarrassing want dissipated. His eyebrows raised in mild question at his notifications, he had totally forgotten that there was a conversation with Worick going on. A new text: there will be more people, you know. I bet some will love to have a cute little party boy like you around

Cocking his head, he read the sentence two more times. As easy going as Worick was, he had a peculiar way of talking and even in text form Marshall was sure to see the carefree smile. Cute little party boy? He tried very hard to not be that person anymore. _C'mon little gay looking boy, he's looking right through you. You make it really easy, too, always having your ass hang out of your pants. _Marshall texted back: sorry, another time maybe. ain't in town tonight

When he looked up again, the narrow street opened into a wide parking lot, behind it trees and grassy patches spread out, red pavement curved around the vegetation and led a path to the water. Hastily Marshall put the phone back into his pocket and doubled his speed to rush towards the railing that was bolted along the riverside. The breeze from the Mississippi was a little cooler than before and the sun glistened on its surface. That the water was murky didn't bother, it was wide and gently flowing along. "Awesome", Marshall muttered to himself. He liked spending his time at the lake house, sitting at the shore and watching the waves come in was calming and created a different kind of focus than a busy studio. A river was nice, too.

Without hesitation, Nicolas climbed over the railing and onto a strip of wood. The riverbank was made out of boards for the water to slosh against and planks bolted on top to walk on. It creaked under Nicolas's weight.

Marshall watched this doubtful. He looked around but couldn't see other people doing the same, moreover a few yards up the river he saw a security fence blocking off a part of the railing altogether. »You sure?«, he asked his boyfriend.

»It's fine«, Nicolas assured and held out a hand to help.

Next to him Big Eight cleared his throat warningly. "This doesn't look safe."

With that assessment Marshall absolutely concurred, the planks just sloped off into the water waiting for a person to fall down and judging by the rust and moss sprinkled around, this was an old construction. The creaking didn't inspire confidence either. But Marshall took Nicolas's hand and climbed over the railing himself. "It's gonna be fine", he answered Big Eight's scowl.

A few steps later they found a nice spot to sit down, their feet dangled above the water. Nicolas opened the paper bag from the chocolaterie and got them one of the sweet treats out. The chocolate hadn't melted yet, but it was leaving sticky, tasty traces on their fingers.

_Suck it, slut!_ Marshall was licking away some chocolate from his thumb and crossing eyes with Nicolas at this exact moment. _Suck it, slut!_ Biting his lips, he looked away. He shouldn't be flirting when he couldn't back it up. _Suck it, slut!_ How were they to enjoy this last date to the fullest when Marshall couldn't have any sex? _Suck it, slut!_ This was only reminding them both what they could have without satisfying this yearning ever again. Only frustration, no pleasure. _Suck it, slut!_

Marshall lunged forward pressing his lips against Nicolas's, a hand taking hold of Nicolas's neck and the warm skin under his fingertips was another reminder of what he was losing. He didn't want to, he desperately didn't want to. _You can do this, bitch. I know you can, that's all you do. Take his dick out and suck it!_

But Nicolas's grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away, enough for their eyes to meet again. Questions drew all over Nicolas's face, the black eyes absorbed all sunlight but confusion was there.

Marshall's mouth opened but no words came out. What was he to say? What had he done? _I know, pussy, you're about to suck him off._ "I-I …", Marshall stuttered, his mind blanked on words. _Come on, you want to suck him off. You was dreaming about that all week. All the time. Get your mouth open and on that dick!_ Marshall bit his lower lip, his teeth cut into the sensitive skin and the pain came to be an anchor, a different but true sensation other than the want for more.

"Kitten?", Nicolas asked in his dark voice, another anchor. "Should we go to the hotel?" The vowels just slightly too long.

Marshall shook his head, "No! The date, the game. I'm fine!" He had to get his shit together. No more losing control! The flight had been a nightmare, he couldn't put his boyfriend through more. Nicolas deserved better. _Then suck his dick!_ But he had promised, no more sex. Promised! That couldn't be broken, not by him. He needed to be better! _You need to suck his dick, bitch. Slut, suck it. That's what a fag like you lives for, do what you're useful for. Ain't nothing else you're good at._ But he couldn't. The promise. His daughters, no more scaring them. He had to be better. He wanted to be _a - slut, that's what you wanna be, that's what you are._ He wanted to - "I'm fine."

"Let's go to the hotel", Nicolas suggested, a quick look back to Big Eight.

"No!" Marshall scrambled to his feet, wood creaking underneath him. "No, I'm fine. We can still do something. Let's do something! The game ain't starting for a while yet, let's see what else's good here. The river's nice, right. There gotta be something here with some action. Like, we could … we could … I mean-" _That you want to blow him. Then do it, slut! Suck his dick! Open wide, make your throat loose, swallow his cum!_

Standing up himself, Nicolas put a hand on Marshall's back and guided him back over the railing, back onto solid stone pavement. "Okay, sounds cool", he assured him, "Let's do some action."

"Yeah, right, some action", Marshall nodded his agreement and looked around the riverside: red pavement snaked around grassy patches, trees with benches placed around them, a shiny bronze sculpture stood on a pedestal, a wooden pavilion to relax in its shade. But nothing said action.

Pointing down the river Nicolas said: "Let's walk for a bit. We're bound to find something fun."

"Yeah, right", Marshall nodded again, "Certainly. It's gonna be fine. It's all gonna be fine." This didn't need to be a disaster. _Suck his dick, slut!_ His pants vibrated, Marshall jumped startled. "The fuck?", he muttered and pulled the phone out. Worick again. "Hey, maybe he knows something fun to do?", a quick reassuring look to Nicolas. They would turn this around. This date could still be a success.

A short nod, a tentative smile, a frown. Nicolas was worried.

Determined Marshall opened the message. He needed anything fun for them to do. _Suck his dick, slut. That's a fun thing to do. You love it, fag, you love it so much you base your whole personality on it. That's the only thing he likes you for, homo._ Marshall bit his lips again and read: how so? something important for your music thingy? or another 'affair'? hope he pays better this time

Marshall frowned ill-humored. "I'm not a damn hooker", he muttered in answer. When would Worick learn? _Of course you are, bitch, you sell yourself._ He texted back: just so you know, I'm on a date with my boyfriend _You fucking broke up! He just some guy you wanna fuck._ They were on a date, a real fucking date that was more than some guy. He was more. _No, you ain't. You're a hole that feels nice around a dick. See, you don't have much to offer, a good mouth to fuck and some angry rhymes. But that's enough for you, little gay looking boy, that's all you need in this world._

Another sharp vibration, Worick's answer: a new one already? impressive. can't be all that pleasurable though, you're still coherent enough to text me

Swallowing hard, Marshall looked up to Nicolas. _Now get his cum in your mouth and swallow that!_ This was fucking boring, wasn't it? _I been telling you! Get on your knees and suck him, slut._ Promptly he shoved the phone back into his pocket. Texting someone else was the very wrong move right now, he had to focus on his boyfriend. _Easy peasy, get your mouth on his dick and make him cum. I bet he'll forgive you all this boring nonsense._ "I, uhm …", a hard swallow – _you need cum, slut_.

"It's okay, Kitten", Nicolas's deep voice made his body vibrate.

No, it wasn't. _Suck his dick!_

* * *

They walked around for a while, it felt like hours. There wasn't anything fun to do. A boat tour or a visit to the aquarium was lame, that's how you entertained kids but not your grown-ass boyfriend. Besides, Marshall shouldn't be in a crammed space with too many people, he'd be busted pretty quickly. That nobody had recognized him yet was probably because they hadn't walked close enough to other people for them to really look at him. He liked to keep it that way. _Come little gay looking boy, give 'em a show. Get down on your knees and show everyone what your real talent is. They will rejoice every time you make him cum._

They had moved away from the river and back to the streets of the inner city, a different one but more restaurants and bars. The church kinda looked out of place with its high tower. Marshall grew nervous that he couldn't show Nicolas anything cool when it was the man's first time out of town. In the end, cities were very similar in a lot of places: streets, buildings, too many cars.

»Hey«, Nicolas caught his attention, »How about this?« The man stood in front of a store window filled with books proudly showing their covers.

A book store? That made perfect sense, why hadn't Marshall thought of this? »Yeah, sure«, he nodded in wild agreement.

It was a small little place with shelves all over the walls and a few stood in the middle of the room as islands the customers could walk around to brows. Some posters hung on the walls, Marshall recognized _Star Wars_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ but others he had never seen before. Most of the shelves were populated with regular books, signs for their respective genres were stuck to the wood like hard and soft science fiction, high and urban fantasy or something like steampunk which Marshall wasn't really sure what that was and many more. Figurines, cups, hats and other merchandize from various series were scattered all over the place.

"Neat", Marshall gave his verdict and followed Nicolas deeper into the store to the fantasy section. _Nerd! You're fucking killing me over here. You ain't gonna get laid like this, fag._ Good, 'cause he didn't want to get laid. He was determined with this. _Damn homo, you're a joke, you know that? Just get your ass out._ Unfortunately his ass was as much against his new-found lifestyle as his mind was. Whenever Nicolas's hand brushed his skin or his mind shouted graphic details into his ear, there was an excited tingle in his hole or an anticipating tug in his groin. His ass wanted to get laid pretty bad. But he had made a promise. No more sex! _You're such a pussy! And now you're one without the fun, just fucking stupid. Get naked and dance for him. Or do you want him to get more fun out of a dusty book? _Well no, not really honestly, at least not more fun … But this date hadn't been much fun in the first place, maybe a dusty book was better than nothing? He couldn't give Nicolas anything fun, what else could Marshall do to make their time together enjoyable? _Just get on your knees and suck his dick, that's fun enough._

Leaning his head at an angle Nicolas glanced over the rows of spines, reading the titles and author's names. Every now and then he took a book out and inspected the cover on the front as well as the blurb in the back. Sometimes he was quick in putting it back on the shelf or keeping it in his hands, sometimes the decision seemed less easy.

Marshall watched this for a bit. Maybe he could find out what Nicolas liked for books? So when Nicolas put one of the books back, Marshall picked it up and inspected the cover and the blurb as well; and when Nicolas kept another book in his hand, Marshall picked up a copy from the shelf and examined it as well. With both books in his hands, he was trying to figure out why Nicolas had chosen the way he had.

The book Nicolas had put back had a mostly black cover, some silhouettes of birds flying off. Its title was _Gods and Warriors: The Outsiders_, which fit Nicolas well. The text on the back read: Hylas is just a boy but three things he knows for certain: The Gods exist. Magic is real. Someone wants his death … So far this sounded pretty cool. If Marshall had to choose, this would probably be what he would get for Nicolas.

The book Nicolas was keeping had a man in a disheveled suit on its cover, his face was cut off and there was the print of red lipstick on his neck encircling two puncture wounds, a vampire bite. The title _A Quick Bite_ also went with this. The blurb on the back read: Lissiana has been spending her centuries pining for Mr. Right, not just a quick snack, and this sexy guy she finds in her bed looks like he might be a candidate … Doubtful Marshall looked up only to see Nicolas's back, the man hunched over a different book to keep or reject. Why the hell was he going for a cheap vampire romance? This didn't make no sense. _You don't make sense either, but who cares. Let's get out of this dust bin, slut, and find some other dick to suck. He clearly busy._ Marshall put the books back and followed Nicolas, who had moved on to a different shelf. With a short wave of his hand he caught the man's attention. »You getting someone a gift or something?«

A blank stare.

Marshall pointed to the vampire romance in Nicoals's hands. »I don't think you're the intended reader. Ain't that more for bored housewives?«

»So?« Nicolas had no fucks to give about this assumption. »I like her writing, it's light and very smooth.«

»But the other one sounds way cooler«, Marshall argued, »With action and adventure and the lost sister, a kid hunted by dark forces and all that. I'd watch that.« It didn't necessarily sound exciting enough to get him reading a book, but as a movie he'd be down.

Nicolas shrugged indifferent. »I'm more in the mood for difficult romances with a happy ending. Maybe you wanna check one out?«

»Uhm …« _Touché! He ain't as dumb as he looks, bitch. You should take a page out of his book._ »I … I'ma look over there for a sec«, and Marshall stepped to the side, to the other end of the store. His heart was beating too fast. Had Nicolas just said what Marshall thought he had? This was … _What you doin', fag? Get on your knees and suck his dick. You're getting his balls so blue, he needs to read cheesy books to get off. What a shitty slut are you?_ If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't be one at all anymore. That was the goal. But more importantly: Nicolas thought their relationship was as difficult as one with a literal mythical monster? Fuck. _Duh! You broke up but are still on a date. You're a slut but can't get down to fuck him. That's just the tip of the iceberg. Bitch, you're bad at you're job and you're a bad fuck. Difficult is an understatement. _He wasn't this kind of bad, was he? He wasn't a monster.

Marshall ran his hands over his face. This wasn't the place to think through this problem. Not behind a shelf in a book store. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then another one. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in front of the comic book shelf. That was a good distraction. His eyes flitted over the rows, recognizing names and titles and in what layout this all was organized. His fingers traced over the spines, until it halted curious. There was an issue of _The Punisher _he wasn't familiar with. Now, that in itself didn't mean much, but it was a hint. Maybe he didn't own this one yet, after all his collection was big but not complete.

"You look familiar", a guy nearby said. "You come here often?"

Please no … Marshall sighed internally and steeled his resolve before he lifted his head and his gut feeling was affirmed, the guy was looking at him. Great … He really hadn't much headspace for a fan interaction right now, he barely kept his attention on the comic book as it was. Nicolas thought of him as a monster! "I ain't from here", Marshall explained curtly. Couldn't the guy just walk away? That wasn't too much to ask.

"I've seen you before …" The guy's gaze traveled over Marshall's form critically, coming to rest on his face eventually. Then his eyes grew big. "Fuck. You're Eminem!"

Marshall clicked his tongue, "I been hit on better. A little creativity won't hurt ya, and a better punchline." A little joke might help and keep the situation away from a big fuss. He didn't want to be Eminem right fucking now, maybe he could convince this guy that he wasn't. "But you ain't my type anyway, sorry."

"What?", the guy asked confused and crinkled his nose. "Fuck, you ain't Em, you're a homo. Get your ass outta here! This a book store, not a gay bar or whatever. You don't belong here. Ugh, ya'll everywhere these days, can't you keep to yourself?"

What an asshole. _Agreed, let me teach him lesson: _"_I'm exactly where I belong_", and Marshall took a Spiderman comic from the shelf. "_You ever wondered why he and Cap and Deadpool and all the others wear skinny tights? Hint: Skinny tights show off their assets the best._" He put air quotes around the word _assets_. An oldie but goodie.

"That's fucking disgusting!", the man raised his voice and shoved Marshall with a strong push. "Get away from me, fag, or I'ma punch your nose in!"

"_Oh I see_", Marshall's stance was steady but his voice was filled with mean sneer, "_You want the whole gay section for yourself. Selfish prick. We can share, I'm good for sharing. Two's always better than one._" He made a step closer to the man, a swivel of his hips to bump against him.

Another strong push against Marshall's chest. "You need to fucking leave. Now! Don't you fucking spread your faggot germs around here", and the man was snatching the Spiderman comic out of Marshall's hands.

This was so stupid, it was getting sad. Marshall flipped the man off. "_Keep it, I already licked all the panels with Spidey's dick_."

Immediately the comic book fell to the floor accompanied by the sound of disgust.

Marshall turned on his heels and left. The store was small but with the book shelves standing everywhere there were a number of little enclaves and niches to hide in. _Ah! That felt good, little gay looking boy, we should do this more often. Now, let's find you a nice dick to take back to the hotel and this trip might turn out alright in the end._ The only one he'd take back to the hotel was Nicolas, but not to fuck. He had a promise to hold up.

Briefly he looked around but couldn't see the heap of spiky black hair his boyfriend sported. Perhaps he was kneeling down to find a good book at the bottom of a shelf? He was pretty small after all, no wonder he got easily lost in a crammed, tightly packed space like this. Marshall shrugged to himself and rather looked at the small book shelf he was standing in front now: manga books. Perfect. If he stayed here, Nicolas was bound to come by eventually and find him. Perhaps by then he had even forgotten how he called Marshall a monster earlier. They still needed to find something fun to do before the game started.

_Look at this nice set of boobs. Why don't you like those, fag?_ Marshall picked up the small book, the cover bluish except for a cutout in the shape of a keyhole. Inside that cutout was a cute manga girl drawn, her pigtail fell over her shoulder and her blouse was open showing perky breasts, knees folded up and probably revealing her panties under the short skirt, but the drawing ended too early. Marshall tried to read the title: _No-zo-ki-a-na_. What the hell did that mean? Couldn't they translate the titles or was that too expensive?

A soft touch to his shoulder. »You wanna try out a good comic for a change?«, Nicolas asked amused with one hand, the other balancing a stack of books.

Marshall huffed. »Already have«, and he waved with the _Punisher_ comic. He rather buy it once too many instead of not having it at all. He could always sell it. Then he showed the manga with the cute girl on the cover, her face perpetually winking and lips puckered. »This what you like?«

»Oh, this is a good one«, Nicolas signed surprised. »Nice! But you should start with volume one, not with the end.«

Marshall looked at the cover again now noticing the number 10 in the bottom corner. »I wasn't going to buy it«, he defended himself, »This just … stuck out.«

»Well, it's about sticking it in, so …«

»Yeah, I figured. It's pretty obvious.« With covers like these, no wonder people thought this kind of comic was perverted. And by the looks of it, this seemed to be a more tasteful artwork. Porny in an understated, cheeky kind of way.

Putting his stack of books down, Nicolas signed with both hands: »It's about a guy and a girl who become neighbors and there's a hole in the wall between their apartments, so they make an arrangement about when either of the two can look through and watch the other's life - more specifically sex life. It's really good.«

_That's my kinda jam! Buy it, bitch! There gotta be some huge bazonkers in there, I bet._ »You read this?«, Marshall asked. »Aren't you into the bloody kind where they beat each other up all the time?«

»I read everything«, Nicolas answered nonchalantly. »But yeah, I still have it if you wanna give it a try.«

Marshall put the book back on its shelve. »Thanks but no, I'm good.« _Come on! It's just a book with tits. Not even real tits. Can't you look at fake tits anymore, is that too much sex for you? Fuck me, you're ridiculous! Fucking fag._

»Your loss.«

_My loss! I wanna see tits! And I wanna fuck a hole! Fuck this shit!_ »I'm gonna manage somehow«, Marshall signed with a bit of sarcasm. »You got everything?«, and he eyed the stack of books Nicolas had brought: thirteen books and nine mangas. Besides the vampire romance he didn't recognize any of the titles, unsurprisingly.

»For now.« Nicolas picked the stack up again and walked to the checkout.

Marshall followed suit with his comic book. But he blinked confused when he put it down on the counter for the cashier to do her thing. The _Punisher_ comic was there as expected, but so was the manga with the keyhole cutout now in red with the girl in a different pose and the number 1 in the bottom corner. "That ain't-", but the manga beeped into the register and the final price popped up on the small little display facing the customer - him. _Just buy it, homo! You can't take away watching porn from me. That's a crime against humanity! I'ma put the world police onto you! You can't keep me from porn. I have rights, you know. Porn is freedom!_ Marshall sighed, that wasn't an overreaction at all … But he payed for both books. What did it matter?

Nicolas looked at him with raised eyebrows. »Thought, you didn't want it?«

»Yeah, I thought that too …« _You want it and tits and sex, but you're a little bitch. You're too full of yourself, thinking you're better than you really are. You're a horny slut, fag, deal with it. Now let's see what this perky chick has to offer._ The book still in his hands Marshall opened it somewhere random: a whole page showed the girl from behind, her skirt had flapped up and showed her panties. _Cute ass._ Marshall browsed further back and opened another random page: a different girl with long black hair and completely naked took up half the page, more exactly her huge, soft looking breasts took up half the page. She was looking down, the two small panels at the bottom showed a guy. Speech bubbles made her say: 'Quite big, right? That's why my shoulders are always so tense. But I like it when men look at them. Do you like big breasts?' _Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking 'bout!_ Marshall looked over to Nicolas: »You like this?«

Nicolas eyed up the page quickly. »Yeah, it's a good story.«

»It's porn, they don't have a story«, Marshall huffed sullen. _You're just peeved you ain't in one, slut! You can change that. Get down on your knees and suck him, that'll make him forget these huge paper breasts. Well, if you're good at least._ He was good! No one complained about his blowjobs, Nicolas certainly hadn't. »I mean, ain't you gay? Do you really like porn with tits?« Doubtful Marshall looked at the page again.

There was a smirk on Nicolas's lips. »I like porn with dicks, too.«

Marshall shoved his elbow into the other's ribs. That he meant this question kind of serious wasn't something he wanted to admit. _Because it's super dumb, fag. Just get your ass out and let him fuck you, that's gonna get his mind off of porn, for sure._

»I don't have anything against tits«, Nicolas explained, still smirking amused, »I like them small and firm, if that's what you're asking.«

»You do?«, he asked surprised by the answer. He had expected more aversion from his boyfriend, him being gay and all.

Nicolas cocked his head. »I had a girlfriend once, didn't I tell you that?«

»Yeah, the one you killed«, Marshall nodded, he remembered. Awful, bloody story that would make a good song, but sure was bad to have happen in real life.

A frown. »What? No, I didn't. Why would you - What?« Nicolas stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to look at Marshall confused and somewhat shocked.

»No?«, Marshall asked back puzzled. »Don't you have that huge scar because of her? With all the blood and shit? The story was brutal.«

»Yeah but … You serious?«

Marshall shrugged.

For a moment Nicolas looked at him with a dark expression, then he signed a bit slower than usual: »She moved away for a couple of years, that's how things ended. I would never kill her, I loved her.«

Again, Marshall shrugged. »Ain't that why it sometimes happens? Because you love her too much?«

»That's bullshit«, Nicolas signed with a deep frown somewhere between concern and upset. »Murder has nothing to do with love, ever.«

»But it can«, Marshall insisted, »Like when you're too jealous or when you two have a fight and shit like that. Sometimes things just get out of hand.« He knew from experience and God was he glad the worst had never come to pass. It had been bad enough as it was.

Nicolas shook his head. »That's not love, that's selfishness. When you kill someone out of anger, you aren't doing it for them but only for yourself. It's about that your feelings matter more than theirs and more than their life even. To call that love is a joke.«

Stunned Marshall looked at his boyfriend. That was … _Hahaha! He's looking right through you, bitch. I kinda like this guy, he's too much into you but at least he can see you for who you truly are: a selfish slut._ An adorable slut?

»Let's get these to the hotel. You don't wanna miss the game, right«, Nicolas suggested and walked away.

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry", Marshall said quickly and rushed after Nicolas, but with the back to him his boyfriend wouldn't hear nor see a word. "Damnit!" _You fucked that up pretty hard, homo. You should present your ass as a peace offering, has worked in the past._ That was a bad idea on so many levels, he wouldn't even entertain it - just no. _What you got to lose, little gay looking boy? Don't be afraid. He's way too much into you, even angry he'll fuck you. _Which wasn't making anything better. Angry sex wasn't a good thing. _But you love it, slut. Suck his dick._

Briefly, shyly Marshall looked over to Nicolas as he walked next to him. Maybe he was a monster? At least in regards to romance. A vampire couldn't be much worse of a boyfriend than him, always hurting their lover.

Their eyes met once more today. The typical stoic expression was back on Nicolas's features and it made Marshall's heart sink a little. _I keep telling you, suck his dick and he'll be happy in no time._

"It's okay, Kitten", Nicolas said and startled Marshall a little. He hadn't expected to hear his deep voice again today. "Let's enjoy the game, alright?"

Hardly. But Marshall nodded in agreement and made a mental note to find a good way to apologize. Maybe he could buy some nice fantasy romance novels with happy endings? If he was a monster, then at least he wanted to be one that came over to the good side and learned to protect his lover from his monstrous ways. _Oh girl, you're still on that? He! Don't! Care! He just wants to fuck you good and move on, bitch. You're a slut, that's what you do. He don't even care that you fuck with other dicks. Your ways don't matter, just that your hole is open._ Marshall bit his lips. This should be their last date, in some ways it was their worst date and none of them had been actually good. He didn't want to end things with anger and bitterness, but wasn't it the only way relationships could end? The monster always lost. "Yeah, let's enjoy the game." He didn't feel like it anymore.

_Suck his dick, slut._


	62. Every Time Someone Walks In The John I Get Maddened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall and Nicolas are at the game, finally. But it goes a little wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Dub-Con in this.

With the hood over his head, Marshall sunk into the dark fabric and into his seat as the game went by him. The players ran across the field, the football whirred through the air, the crowd was cheering and chanting. By all accounts: This was fun. _You're a sad piece of shit, homo._ But Marshall wasn't having fun. _You're only fun with a dick in your mouth._ He didn't want to be that person anymore. _You ain't nothing more than a slut._ He needed to be a better person. _You're a whore, fag. A skank and a cumslut and a pussygirl._ His fists were tight balls in the pockets of his hoodie. _Get your ass out and fuck him already._ He promised Hailie to get better. _Get down on your knees and suck him off._ He couldn't disappoint her, not again. _Get naked and see who takes you back to the locker room._ Hailie was everything he had. _If you hedge your bets right, you can have the whole team railing you._ He needed to be a good dad to her. _I heard, lions have barbs on their dicks, that sounds like fun!_ He couldn't be this person anymore! _You're alone here, slut, nobody'll know that you had a cumshower during halftime._ Marshall shifted uncomfortable in his seat, a hot tingle went down his groin. _See, bitch? Just think about one of these hunks fucking you hard. Hmm, good, right?_ But he closed his eyes, he didn't want to see that. _What about two or three ramming their dicks in your hole? Your boo won't mind, slut, he knows you need it._ Images of naked, beefy, face-less guys rolled through his mind, cocks stiff and hands reaching out to him. _They fuck you so hard, you won't be walking for days._ He couldn't do that, they knew who he was. His heart was beating too fast. _Your boo can take care of that. Don't mind your slutty little head with details, just spread you legs and let them cum._ Nicolas shouldn't have to see that. The man deserved better._ Fine, he can have the first fuck. I bet he likes his pussies small and tight._ Hadn't he been in good enough shape for him? After too many years lying fallow his hole needed a while to get all worn and useful. _You'll be worn out and used up alright. Get the team in there and they gonna make good work of your pussy. Won't be tight ever again._ Why hadn't Nicolas taken what he deserved? Only ever blowjobs. Wasn't Marshall's hole good enough for him? _A hole's a hole. It's why even a slut like you's still fun. If you needed talent for this even, bitch, you be done for._ Wasn't he Nicolas's adorable slut? His Kitten? His Ice Princess? That should mean more than a blowjob and a bit of cuddling. _Let's show him what a dirty slut you are._ But how? Nicolas only ever had nice sex with him. _There's a whole team of hunks on the field. Open your mouth wide, two dicks fit in there no problem. Three dicks in your hole, it'll be tight but awesome. One in each hand and I'm sure you can jerk off one with each of your feet. One can hump your dick and one's a freak and takes your ear. _An electric prickle spread through Marshall's abdomen, his blood was rushing south. That sounded like a hell of a lot of fun. _You'll be drenched in cum, slut!_

A touch on his shoulder, he looked up and into matte black eyes. Nicolas watched him with a dark frown, thin lips drawn into a tight line. »You okay?«

Marshall cocked his head defiantly. What a stupid question. In response he mouthed silently: _Let's fuck, here, now_. A self-assured grin.

Nicolas's frown deepened into the shadows underneath his eyes, the contours of his face filled with concern. »You don't look okay.«

Leaning closer Marshall whispered into his ear: "_I'll be a whole lot better with your dick in my pussy._" For good measure, he placed his hand in Nicolas's crotch and grabbed the cock through the fabric of the cargo pants. "_You got such a nice dick. A shame that you don't use it more often._"

With a sharp yank Nicolas pulled the hand away. »Isn't this public?«

"_Pff, let 'em watch. They love to watch, fucking vultures_." Again Marshall grabbed the cock and squeezed it. He licked his lips. "_I can't decide, do I suck you off or ride you like a cowboy?_" Both ideas had their appeal. First of all, he needed a dick in his hole so bad! Just … How could anyone go a day without it? It been more than a week and it was killing him! Secondly, he loved to suck dick. Loved it! He could do it all day, in fact his perfect day had a whole lot of cocksucking in it. Of course also a whole lot of assfucking, went without saying. "_What you think? Your dick, my ass - the perfect date._"

»This isn't good …«, again Nicolas was pulling away Marshall's hand. But he also was looking around, eyes searching. "Big Eight?", he asked out loud.

The deep voice vibrated through Marshall's cells. "_Hmm_", he moaned sensually, his breath was bouncing back from Nicolas's neck, "_I love your voice, goes straight to my dick._" With this voice, Nicolas could talk him into orgasm no problem.

"Marshall", Nicolas said pressed and pushed him back into his seat.

"_Yeah, say my name, Boo, so fucking hot._" Marshall squeezed the other's dick again, feeling the thick organ through the fabric. ”_Gonna have me loose and wet in no time._"

A pressed groan, "Unbelievable …" Suddenly, Nicolas jumped up and pulled Marshall with him, pulled him out of his seat and out of the row. A brisk walk away from the field and up the stairs.

Marshall gave a short laugh. "_See ya fuckers!_", he shouted into the crowd they came by. "_This gonna be great_", he mused to himself while he followed the pull. He couldn't wait for it, wherever they were going. "_You gonna rail me against the railing?_", he snickered about the wordplay.

»Restroom«, Nicolas signed, quick glance back.

"_Ooh, dirty, I like it. Think, they have a glory hole here? Haven't done that in forever._" Was Nicolas good at sifting the chaff from the wheat, more like the staff from the meat? Another amused snicker. Half the fun of a glory hole was the anonymity, for which he knew Nicolas a little too well. But the stadium was packed with people, there had to be a big-dicked hunk in here somewhere, for sure.

But the man didn't say anything, only pulled him further along, almost running through the halls.

Marshall grinned smugly. "_This eager, huh? You're way too much into me if that bit of groping turned you on. But hey, I ain't complainin'. I take it, if you take me._"

Still no answer, only a tight grip on Marshall's wrist. But there was the sign for the restroom, arrow pointing invitingly.

"_Almost there, Boo, can't wait for your dick to split me open. My hole's so excited for you, I gonna cum twice._"

With a loud thud the door swung open and Nicolas pulled him into the public bathroom. But before the door could fully close again, Marshall pushed Nicolas against the wall and smashed their lips together. His hands gave a good pinch to Nicolas's ass, before he opened the cargo pants. The belt clanked a little.

Nicolas pulled Marshall's hands away, tried to anyway. But Marshall wasn't giving up so easily. This dick was his and it would fill one of his holes now. Period.

"You're not okay", Nicolas said slightly out of breath, "This isn't okay." Their hands were locked in a wrestling match, trying to overpower each other.

"_Fuck okay_", Marshall snarled, "_I need to fuck. Now!_"

A hard push and Nicolas shoved him away. "You need to calm the fuck down!"

"_I'ma be calm when I came!_", Marshall yelled back. His fist grabbed hold of Nicolas's shirt and pulled him close again. The other hand yanked the zipper down.

But again Nicolas freed himself and stepped away. "What's wrong with you?!"

"_You ain't fucking me, that's wrong!_" Marshall followed the step, then he halted. "_Know what, if you ain't wanna fuck me - fine, whatever. I'ma find another dick._" He turned to the door.

But before he could step out, Nicolas had him in a neckhold. "You ain't going nowhere." Walking backwards, he pulled Marshall into one of the stalls. As he closed the little lock, Marshall broke free from the hold.

"_You can't do this! You ain't my fucking boyfriend! You can't tell me who to fuck anymore!_" While he yelled, he shoved and pushed against Nicolas's chest. Fuck, these pecs felt so good under his hands.

"I'm your friend - and you need help." With a firm grip on Marshall's shoulders, Nicolas pushed him down. "Sit!", he ordered.

And Marshall sat on the toilet seat. For a second his muscles were tight and ready to fight his way up again_, _but his eyes saw a different plan. Almost on eye level was Nicolas's crotch. Marshall grinned. Quickly he opened the button and pulled the pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. "_That's what I'm talking about._" The cock as pale as the rest of Nicolas was already half hard and filling out more. The black hair here was deceptively spiky yet soft. There even was a tiny scar, Nicolas really had them everywhere on his body. Marshall put his hands around it, squeezed it and kneaded it. A long, savoring lick along the scar - Marshall would never be so rough with this lovely dick.

"Marshall", Nicolas called out. His hands held on to Marshall's head, trying to pull away but he wasn't putting all his muscles into it. "Stop. You don't have to do this, okay."

Marshall looked up with a smile. "_But I want to_." He closed his lips around the tip, the flat of his tongue was brushing against it, sharing his saliva with it. This would feel nice real soon.

"Do you?", Nicolas asked back. "You don't look like it." His hands shifted down to Marshall's shoulders, here the grip was better but the angle was worse and his pushing less effective.

Easy for Marshall to stand his ground, or rather sit his ground. "_Oh, I live for it_", he answered cocky, "_Sucking cock is my calling. There's a prophecy, y'know: Seventeen years later I'm as rude as Jude, schemin' on the first dick with the hugest root. I've got no game and every face looks the same, they've got no name, so I don't need game to play. I just say whatever I want to whoever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want, however I want. However, I do show some respect to few. This ecstasy's got me standin' next to you, gettin' sentimental as fuck, spillin' guts to you. We just met, but I think I'm in love with you._" He pecked a little kiss on the tip of Nicolas's dick, then Marshall broke out into a laugh. It's been too long since he'd last performed this song.

"Well, you're really good …", Nicolas admitted and knelt down. Now he could look Marshall straight in the face, a hand softly caressing his cheek. "You can say no, even to a prophecy."

"_No?_", he asked with puzzlement, "_Why would I ever say no? This mouth needs to be fucked._" Marshall reached out again for the dick that needed to be in one of his holes. The hard dick in his hands made his mouth water with anticipation, he licked his lips. The prickle in his hole was becoming stronger, more urgent. "_And this pussy needs to be wrecked. Give it to me!_"

Nicolas shook his head. "You're not in your right mi-"

"_Argh!_", Marshall shouted, interrupting the other. He lunged forward and shoved Nicolas against the door, to the ground. Kneeling between the legs, he put his head down to the crotch and put the waiting dick into his mouth. A savoring buzz in the back of his throat as his lips wrapped around the hard flesh, as its heat filled out the cavity of his mouth. Bobbing his head up and down Marshall hollowed out his cheeks for more pleasure. Moaning and slurping filled the stall quickly.

Rough fingers raked over Marshall's short hair, Nicolas trying to find something to hold on to. Maybe to pull him away, maybe to pull him closer. His deep moans tickled Marshall's ears.

"Shit, shit, shit", a different voice cursed as the door to the restroom opened again. Steps rushed across the tiled floor, until they suddenly stopped. "The hell?"

Marshall was blissfully moaning and sucking the hot, hard, handsome cock, wet noises tumbled out of his mouth and every once in a while a flick of his tongue had Nicolas gasping.

"Hey!", the stranger called out again, "Whaddaya doin' in there?"

Releasing the cock with a plop from his mouth, Marshall glared at the closed stall door. "_Shut up! I'm trying to suck a cock in here!_"

A fist banged against the door. "Hey! You can't do that here. Go fucking home!"

Nicolas blinked perplexed. He leaned his head back to look up, but the door didn't reveal much. »What?«, he asked.

Marshall waved the question aside, "_Just some prick being annoying_." He bent down again, closing his mouth around the cock again.

The man kept banging against the stall door. "Hey, come the fuck outta there! Faggots, only one thing in their head … There are kids at this game, asshole."

"_Come out?_", Marshall asked and lifted his head up again, "_You wanna join in? Why not? The more the merrier my mom always said._"

Nicolas scrambled to his feet and pulled his pants back up on his hips. With a curt gesture he instructed Marshall to stay back. Now it was Nicolas whose fist banged against the door. "Go piss somewhere else."

The man hit the door in answer. "The fuck I will. This is a toilet, not a whorehouse. I'm gonna call security!"

With a little huff, Marshall muttered to himself: "_If it was, the floor would be better._"

But Nicolas was opening the stall door and squeezed through the small crack. "Go away", and his deep voice had an angry tone to it.

"Woah, man, come on", the man rushed to say appeasingly, his feet walked backwards. "This ain't necessary. Li-like, we can do this peacefully."

Marshall crawled the few inches to the door and stuck his head out. Mostly he saw Nicolas's back and a bit of the - sadly - unremarkable, middle-aged guy, but what drew in his eyes was the knife Nicolas was holding. "_Holy shit_", he sucked in a breath, "_Awesome._" He quickly worked his pants open, his own dick hard and aching in the denim cage.

"Go. Away." The tone grew menacing as Nicolas stepped closer to the man.

And the man stepped away from him, being lead to the restroom door like this. "I-I'm goin', I'm goin'. See." He put a hand on the door knob. "No need for … that", a quick look to the knife.

"_That's so hot, fuck_", Marshall panted, stroking his dick and jabbing a finger into his hole. He bit his lips and watched on, still on his knees.

Nicolas stabbed the knife forward a few inches, obviously to scare not to hurt.

The man ran out of the room with a scream.

"_Fuck yeah._" Marshall jumped to his feet and looked around the stall. What to do now? They so needed to fuck, he so needed a dick in his hole. This was so hot. He shuffled away from the stall door and turned around, presenting his ass to it - to Nicolas.

Who walked into the stall right this moment: "Let's go to the ho-", he paused surprised and cocked his head.

Marshall was leaning forward, pants pulled down and ass exposed. He had grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled them apart, more so each middle finger stretched his hole open. Looking over his shoulder he said: "_Fuck me._"

Briefly Nicolas covered his mouth with one hand, slowly dropping it down. "Kitten, you …", but there wasn't a rest to the sentence. Hastily, Nicolas closed the stall door again and locked it with the flimsy bolt.

"_I'm all open and wet for you, Buttons_", and Marshall shook his ass a little, still stretching the cheeks apart.

Finally, Nicolas's hands grabbed Marshall's hips and a second later he was pushing his cock inside. Both groaned throaty, deeply. Harshly their bodies hit on each thrust, skin clapped together and the friction burned. Their voices mixed together, lust quickly took over and rose in their bodies, tension growing with every thrust and every groan.

Marshall held himself stable against the wall, back arched with need and his mouth talked nonsense through the panting and groaning, asking for more and harder thrusts, for more and rougher handling. His own cock aching with tension and pressure, electricity was rushing through his blood alongside prickling voracity. "_Yeah, fuck me, harder._"

Nicolas couldn't hear but obliged anyway, chasing his own orgasm, increasing the speed, decreasing any care. As he came, his sperm shot against Marshall's inner walls.

Who whimpered in the same moment, a blissful moan and his legs - his whole body trembled. His own orgasm broke over him, a stream of pleasure washed over him and washed his mind away. He slowly sank to the ground, Nicolas's hands held him up until Marshall leaned against the stall wall, eyes closed and still panting. "_Let's do that again. Once ain't enough to fill me up._" A small, soft laugh.

"Not here. Give me a moment." Nicolas had pulled his pants up again and was doing the same to Marshall, but also frisking his clothes in the process. With a triumphant huff he pulled the cell phone out and typed in the PIN.

"_C'mere_", Marshall's voice was husky and he wrapped his legs around Nicolas's waist.

But Nicolas didn't pay him any attention, instead focused on the phone. A few button presses later he was skeptically watching the phone as he held it close to his mouth. "Big Eight? Big Eight, you there? Come. Quick. Marshall's … Come, now."

There was crackling in the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray! This little story had its one-year anniversary a few days ago. As a thank you to all you readers I wrote a little short: **Grab You By The (Meow!)** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491687>  
For anyone who needs Marshall and Nicolas to be happy, it's a must-read.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading this for the past year. You are amazing!


	63. Gangsta. #04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolas and Marshall got back to the hotel and somehow managed to survive a few hours, Marshall even got to sleep at one point. But it ain't over.

A single stray beam of sunlight weaseled through the dark teal curtains, a straight line across the end of the bed. A light with sharp edges and with substance, Nicolas felt its warmth on his ankles and relief was growing from it. A new day had begun.

He rubbed fatigue and sleep from his eyes, and felt a little cracking in his neck. Then he looked over to the sleeping body next to him. A tattooed arm curled around the face he found too beautiful, the strong biceps accentuated how delicate Marshall's features were. How fragile of a creature he was. A little girl smiled back, her happiness stung like a rusty nail. Nicolas pressed a light kiss on the shoulder.

It was too late to leave, and he didn't see this end well.

A sweet peach scent unfurled, a preview of the bright and light-hearted person that lay next to him, or an echo of the joyful, unburdened person he could've been but never was. Nicolas pulled the covers high up and over the shoulder, a useless attempt to protect Marshall from the ill he was befallen with.

It wasn't only hurt living in this body, as gorgeous as he was, but something more sinister. What Nicolas could see was more pain than he wanted to allow, more pain that he couldn't name it all. Of a lost friend, of a broken family, of self-doubt and self-hate, of lost courage and lost self, of regretting the past and of fearing the future, of changing too much but not enough, of a broken heart, of a broken soul, of a broken mind, of being loved and hated and cared for and neglected, of being wrong not only in actions but as a person, of not giving enough, of giving too much, of being misunderstood and of not understanding himself, of fighting to be free and of being unable to let go, of making it work regardless, of digging his own grave …

Not all of this pain needed to be eradicated since it grew out of the love that came before. You couldn't love without hurt. Yet, not all of this pain needed to be suffered since it grew out of the nothingness inside of you. Darkness was a part of life.

He reached out to interlace their fingers with each other. Nicolas wasn't a light. For his life this fact had no impact, actually he often found it the better way to go through his days. His own little world was exhausting enough, he didn't need to carry someone else's. Softly his thumb caressed the back of Marshall's hand, felt the metacarpal bones underneath the skin and how easily breakable they were. It was only the second time that Nicolas wished differently. He was yearning to see Marshall happy, to see the little smile he often suppressed, to see him live with joy.

Before, Nicolas had wished for his life to not stain this beautiful, wondrous creature, that all the blood he had shed wouldn't pour down onto the dream Marshall had built for himself out of frustration and talent. Now, Nicolas wished that shedding more blood could help, that he could fight this darkness with his sword, that there was somebody to kill.

His glance lay on the sleeping face, it resting on a bed of teal. The expression calm but this was probably a lie. A few tiny lost freckles peppered the cheeks, around the eyes shallow wrinkles betrayed his age, the light painted the little dimple of his chin stronger. Nicolas was tempted to kiss him, to feel the soft, slightly rosy lips on his own again. His eyes told him that they were calling out to him.

Marshall was losing his fight.

Instead of helping, instead of lending his strength and his pugnaciousness and his blood thirst, Nicolas was aiding the troubles. He had chased his own satisfaction and used Marshall for it. If Nicolas couldn't be of service, he shouldn't be here. But it was too late to leave.

Did Marshall want him here? Nicolas didn't know anymore.

Right now his hope was that the beginning of a new day meant something - anything. He wasn't well acquainted with hope, it was a silly thing that always let you down. Did he need to pray for it to work? He tightly squeezed the hand he was holding. He would. What other option did he have? If the beginning of a new day had no meaning anymore then the next hours were the last hours were every hour. One more pain added to the list: the pain of being trapped in a nightmare.

That's what Nicolas saw. Sadly, he had never figured out how to escape nightmares. Shifting closer, he put an arm around Marshall's shoulders. Maybe he could protect him a little? A sigh. He was being selfish again. That he was here at all, in this bed, with this man, it all was his selfishness. If he had said no all those months ago on the date that had made this more, perhaps Marshall could be with somebody who knew what to do, who could be a light. Doubtful.

Fondly he caressed the shortly cropped hair, rubbed softly the neck that asked to be squeezed, knowing he had squandered all good will Marshall should have for him. He was still making this worse and the only excuse Nicolas had was that he couldn't help himself, that Marshall was too infatuating. Bullshit.

In theory a weekend of sex and lust was enjoyable, but this particular weekend wasn't for so many reasons. Them not being a couple anymore was somehow the most obvious and mattered the least. Nicolas suspected this was a consequence of whatever darkness Marshall was fighting. The words from his mouth hardly coherent, they weren't sexy or arousing, mostly bitter and excessive. The actions crass, the gestures desperate, the gaze lost. Only a few moments had the soft, affectionate side of Marshall room to breathe before it was suffocated beneath more gall and lurid words.

His idea had been to keep the man in the hotel room. Marshall's strength hard to keep in check, and the man determined to throw himself into trouble. At least to Nicolas it looked like trouble, but who was he to tell someone else what to do? Was he wrong? Even if he wasn't, what right did he have to interfere? Marshall was a grown man and could make his own decisions. Also, they weren't a couple anymore. Some hours ago that had felt like a very difficult situation to navigate, now Nicolas had damaged their relationship irreparably. A feeling equal parts new and unwelcome. How was Marshall to trust him again when Nicolas had so easily taken advantage of him?, when Nicolas had so easily proven to be like all the others?, when Nicolas had so easily abused the affection between them?

From his point of view, nothing from yesterday seemed right. Marshall had barely reacted to the outside world but only to what was in his head. Everything he directed towards sex, mostly in rather vulgar ways - which appealed to Nicolas and this was the very wrong moment for it. Just, something about Marshall made even the crudest attempt at flirtation tantalizing. He had a salacious and sensual side to him that was undeniable and hard to resist. It almost was as if sex had possessed him. That's exactly how it was. His obsession with sex was fascinating to watch and the temptation was big to see how far Marshall would go, how far over his limits he could be pushed. To see if even the freakiest thing Nicolas could think of would be stunning and beautiful when Marshall did it. He believed this to be true.

But he was sure any and all of this would hurt Marshall in the process. Yesterday, nothing the man had done had looked like a choice, but it all seemed to be needfulness. A strange sort of necessity to be as sex-crazed and lustful as possible.

At the same time Nicolas was sure to see the hurt well up from beneath, that this overt sexuality was an illusion. For what purpose? So he figured, keeping Marshall here could prevent the worst. Marshall mouthing off at him and jerking off in front of him was the smallest amount of damage to be done. Their relationship was already kaputt. Perhaps this prevented another night from being too rough on Marshall, that he wouldn't tear something and bleed again and whatever else the man probably had gone through in the past. A little bit soreness from jerking off too many times was harmless.

But only if Nicolas was right and only if Marshall wanted help against this. Had all the sex between them been this but on a smaller scale? Either Nicolas had abused Marshall then as well, or Marshall was ultimately okay with all of this.

Undeniably Marshall was lewd and lascivious, a little dirty in the good way and Nicolas loved it. Calling Marshall a slut had a surprisingly stark and stimulating impact, making him even more eager to be fucked. Also undeniably, Marshall was one. Until yesterday Nicolas had believed this to be part of Marshall's personality, an extension of his need to have people around him and how he enjoyed life. This made him as captivating as he was and there was nothing wrong with enjoying sex. But now Nicolas wasn't so sure anymore. What if this wasn't out of enjoyment but because of the darkness inside Marshall? What if his tendency to offer himself up wasn't a sexual desire but a necessity to keep this illusion alive? What if Marshall wasn't a submissive slut because he loved this kind of sex, but because he was possessed by it and had no way out of these troubles? Another pain added to the list, the pain of being used.

Nicolas pressed a soft kiss on the back of Marshall's hand. He wanted to be the light that he wasn't, for Marshall to have a weapon against this darkness. All Nicolas was was a weapon, this would be a rightful cause to fight for.

Marshall crinkled his nose and tried to bury it deeper into the pillow. The hand was pulled closer to his face.

Softly Nicolas stroked Marshall's neck, a finger traced the lines of the ear and he huffed amused. There actually was a freckle inside it.

A short flick of the head, Marshall's sleepy self was trying to shoo away the nuisance.

Yet, Nicolas brushed over that little freckle again, finding it absolutely adorable.

Another short flick and the hand was half raised to shoo away the nuisance more forcefully but it all was sluggish and sleepy. Besides, Nicolas felt a little bit of pressure against his caress, that it was leaned into. Was Marshall waking up?

For a moment Nicolas rubbed the earlobe between his fingers, feeling as much as seeing the little indentation of an earring not worn in a long time.

This time the hand raised itself higher, their wrists brushed against each other not quite pushing him away. But the rest of Marshall leaned forward, leaned more into the fond touches. Eyelashes fluttered for a second before they curled up and revealed bright blue eyes. A small smile so quick it could easily be missed.

With his thumb Nicolas lightly brushed over the jawline that was perfect for a Renaissance painting, all straight with a gentle curve at the joint.

Marshall moved his arm from his face, his hand reached out to thread his fingers through Nicolas's hair.

The kiss they shared was soft and slow. A loving caress.

"I'm sorry", Nicolas said with his voice, unsure if he did it because Marshall loved it and would forgive him quicker, or if he did it because this was how Marshall communicated best.

A puzzled frown on the other's face. "What for?", he asked.

"Yesterday. Instead of helping you, I used you and then I just sat idly by. I should've done more. I should've done right by you." And he still wasn't sure if this was over now or not and for how long Marshall had been like this. The hand in his hair mildly massaged his scalp and Nicolas wanted to enjoy it, but if Marshall still wasn't okay he shouldn't.

"You didn't use me", the confusion burrowed deeper lines into Marshall's expression. "I threw myself onto you, you just did what any guy would do. It's fine."

Nicolas brushed over the freckle in Marshall's ear again. Easier to look at this cute little spot than into the man's eyes. "That's not an excuse. You didn't seem alright, not … It seemed like you had lost control over yourself and were desperately clinging to it."

Marshall shook his head. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"Stop saying that", Nicolas said his throat tenser than he wanted, his voice probably harsher than he meant to. "I'm deaf, not blind. I can see you, Kitten, and … and I saw you cry. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong when you force yourself to act like this."

"Like what?", Marshall asked and pulled his hand back, leaned his whole body back.

A sigh. "Like the personification of some perverted wet dream or something." A dream which reality was tempting but shouldn't exist. Marshall was more than this but didn't admit to it, only quashed himself more. Casting aside Nicolas's apology as if it was a nuisance instead of acknowledging the desperate attempt to repair their relationship that it was.

Marshall swatted the hand away from his ear and sat up. "Well, sorry I ain't meeting your high standards, dickhead." A strong shove against Nicolas's chest and Marshall was climbing out of the bed.

But he held Marshall's wrist to pull him back, to tell him he was the perfect wet dream and Nicolas never wanted to wake up from it. Instantly he let go of Marshall's hand. He wasn't Marshall's light, but he shouldn't pull him deeper into this darkness either. "That's not the point. If you force yourself to be a fluffy happy unicorn, that be equally wrong."

"Fine, tell me how you have me then?", Marshall stood at the side of the bed completely naked and crossed his arms. "I can't like sex and I can't be happy, what you want me to be then?" The frown drawn into angry lines.

Nicolas sat up and reached his hand out to Marshall, wanted him to come back into bed, into a hug like the good book said would help. "I want you to be you. Truly you. If you truly want to have sex with like three guys or whatever - fine, cool, do that. But don't force yourself. That's all."

But Marshall kept standing. "Who says I'm forcing myself?"

You. It wasn't Nicolas's place to explain Marshall's actions to the man himself. He wasn't even sure that he was right anymore, that he read Marshall correctly or perhaps - certainly - the man was hiding things deep inside him Nicolas knew nothing about. Marshall had to see it himself if he wanted to fight this darkness. Maybe he didn't? Nicolas shrugged as an answer.

"And you ain't no better, you fucked me, you watched me jerk off. So … I'm your wet dream, too, eh?"

Another shrug. "That's why I'm sorry." Nicolas got up on his knees. He cupped the face he found intoxicatingly beautiful with both hands and kissed Marshall lightly on the lips. "I talk big how others are assholes to you and shit, but I'm no better. I'm just as selfish. Being here with you is selfish. I want to be with you and I'm convincing myself you want me to … But I don't know what you truly want." And he wasn't sure Marshall knew either.

Leaning his forehead against Nicolas's, Marshall had his eyes closed.

"You said, sex is like an addiction to you … maybe that's what happened? That your detoxing went out of control?", Nicolas suggested. Which made his own actions worse and Marshall was very much right: he couldn't have his boyfriend enabling this.

Marshall still had his arms crossed, it looked more like he was hugging himself. "Maybe", he reluctantly agreed and bit his lover lip. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Getting sober ain't pretty, probably goes for shit like this, too." Again looking for fault in himself first.

"Nothing in my life was pretty", Nicolas answered, his thumbs gingerly brushed over the cheeks. He didn't really get pretty things, they seemed to be useless and needless, at least until he had met Marshall. The pain and ugliness of life couldn't dampen the beautiful iridescence Marshall gave off and whenever the man decided to shine with full light, it struck Nicolas with full force. "Light creates darkness. I can … If you want me here, I can handle it. I know darkness." Maybe he hadn't to pull Marshall down but could push him upwards?

Puzzled Marshall looked up. "Light creates darkness?"

"It's physics, really", Nicolas explained, "Where there's light, there's darkness." Again he softly kissed Marshall. "I lived in darkness all my life, yours doesn't scare me." Maybe Marshall's darkness was pitch-black but only because his light was blindingly bright and to Nicolas this was worth trouble and pain.

Bashfully Marshall looked down to his feet, he bit his lower lip harder. "You don’t …"

With a thumb on his lips Nicolas stopped him from talking. "You're not changing my mind. You can have me here or not, but regardless I like you a whole lot - light and darkness and all."

Lifting his gaze Marshall leaned more into him, a subtle shift in his stance but Nicolas noticed it anyway.

The embrace was tight, their arms hugged each other close and the sweet scent of peach was teasing everything would be okay. Slowly, carefully Nicolas was leaning backwards until they fell back onto the bed, the little bounce didn't break their embrace. Lying like this he softly stroked over Marshall's back. His hand moved up and down the body, feeling the smooth skin but also muscles and bones. Even though he was in good shape and sturdy, Marshall also was skinny and wiry. Strong and fragile all at once.

Marshall raised his head from Nicolas's shoulder and looked down at him. Around his eyes the lines told of regret and sorrow. "I failed. I promised not to, but then I went ahead and fucked you anyway." He was drawing small circles on Nicolas's chest.

"That's part of it", Nicolas answered, softly caressing Marshall's sides. "We all fail, we need to fail in order to get better." He had the scars to prove it.

"I know." For a moment Marshall rubbed his temple callously, almost like he wanted to bore a hole into it with his knuckles. "But I didn't even last a day. That's pretty bad, huh?"

Nothing in Nicolas's life had been like this: A person he deeply cared for sore at heart and no escape near. Well, almost nothing - but killing Marshall's father wouldn't do anything. It barely had done something back then … "I wish I knew how to help you."

"Yeah, me too", and Marshall lay his head down again, his face pressed against Nicolas's neck. Only a second of motionlessness before he sprinkled small kisses onto the speck of skin.

Nicolas pecked a kiss on Marshall's head and lightly petted along the shortly cropped hair, perhaps this at least felt comforting. "It hasn't gone away, has it?"

A slight shake of the head.

Unsurprising, yet disquieting. Even if they spent all weekend in this hotel room and kept Marshall's outburst here, they would need to get back at some point. Marshall would go back home, would go back to work and chances were this darkness would lead him down this path again, but then around people who possibly rather exploit than help. He couldn't picture Ryan being helpful with this at all, the little shit. Even if, what about Marshall's kids, could he protect them from these outbursts all on his own? "Maybe we're going about this wrong", Nicolas suggested with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, this wasn't the time to give in to those kisses. "Not everyone can quit cold turkey, right? That's dangerous even. Then, maybe, you shouldn't either?" Was this helpful or selfish?

Face still pressed against Nicolas's neck Marshall shook his head. A puff of air mumbled against his skin but he could only guess what had been said.

"It could be more about control and less about absence?", he explained further and was annoyed by himself, that he knew this. Of course he knew the Doc was right with most of his advices and rants, that Nicolas needed to be more careful with his medication, that maybe he couldn't live without it but he also couldn't live with it. Still, he would've not expected it to come in handy one day - or like this. "There are drugs to get you off of drugs, right? So with that in mind there could be something that satisfies this … need enough for you that you can do it on your own terms and in better places. Make it less dangerous." His fingers softly stroked Marshall's neck.

But Marshall sat himself up halfway. "Less dangerous?", he asked and the frown was back. "We didn't do anything like that."

Nicolas propped himself up on his hands to look at Marshall better, his head cocked in doubt. "I had sword fights more safe than barebacking an almost threesome on a public toilet." From security to fluids to other less welcoming spectators, there was a lot to be unsafe about sex like that. Which also made it more fun, admittedly, but there was a time and place for it and yesterday hadn't been either.

"You have sex with your sword?", Marshall asked curious, another bite to his lower lip. "You really are a kinky motherfucker, ain't ya." He leaned closer, hand touching and nails scratching the big scar across Nicolas's hip bone, a touch of urgency and appetite. Under the tattooed skin sizzled this energy again like a storm looming too close.

A storm Nicolas didn't mind getting swept away by. "It can be pretty wild … just like you."

"You loved it", Marshall said with a smirk. He leaned forward even more until his lips scraped over Nicolas's as he spoke on, but Nicolas couldn't see the words anymore. Though he was sure to feel: "Fuck me."

"You aren't in your right mind", and Nicolas leaned back, trying for eye contact again. Was there a jitter in the blue eyes? Hard to tell.

"Am too", Marshall objected and pulled one of Nicolas's hands to his crotch, to his hard dick. "I wanna fuck, I'm right about that."

Nicolas frowned, withdrawing his hand, "That doesn't really mean anything."

A little shove against Nicolas's chest. "You're such a weirdo."

Hard he bit back a comment. Right now Nicolas wasn't the weirdest person in this room, surely not. "Didn't you say your therapist is working with you on this?", he asked instead. Perhaps keeping the conversation dry and practical could curb Marshall a little, would keep him grounded. "Maybe making it less dangerous can be helpful until you two worked this out properly."

Marshall climbed on Nicolas's lap, grinded down lightly so their genitals rubbed against each other. "Less dangerous, huh? You wanna be the one who makes it less dangerous? You need permission to fuck me mindless all of a sudden?" Sticking his tongue out and just so connecting with the tip of it Marshall licked slowly across the point of Nicolas's nose. "If I get a doctor's note, you finally gon' fuck me?"

Nope, not grounding at all. They were never talking this through, were they? Nicolas sighed internally. For all his dirty words, Marshall absolutely didn't want to talk about sex and Nicolas got the impression this now was more of the same avoidance. Easier to be over-sexual and over-horny than to face any real feelings. If he pressed this, he might push Marshall down deeper. "What's with your decision of no more sex?"

"Pff", Marshall waved the argument aside, "Already broke my promise, why not enjoy it then? We got a whole weekend to fuck our brains out."

So, so tempting … "Can I try something?", Nicolas asked and already knew the answer. It wasn't fair or right to ask Marshall for permission when he couldn't seem to think about anything else. He wasn't sure how rational Marshall's thoughts still were, if there was more than sex in them and if there was any consideration for his own wants. Nicolas assumed the answer was no.

"Only, if that includes we at least jerk off together", Marshall bargained.

Almost demure, perhaps there was a glimmer of hope. "That can be arranged." Softly he pushed Marshall to the side and stood up from the bed. Quickly he reached his messenger bag where his clothes from last night lay on top of it. A few pulls and he freed the belt from his pants, so he turned around.

Most blatantly Marshall's eyes roamed over Nicolas's body checking out his muscled abdomen and his dick, probably his ass before - the interest absolutely clear. Even more clear and not at all demure was his posture: Marshall's legs spread open and one hand on his own dick lightly stroking it, tongue flicking out between the lips. "You getting your kink on?", he asked seeing the belt in Nicolas's hands and perked up immediately. Getting on his knees Marshall crawled closer to the end of the bed, closer to Nicolas. Excited he straightened up and put his hands forward with their wrists close together. "Forget making out, let's get freaky."

Nicolas raised his eyebrows doubtful, such a deeply odd person … He came back to the bed and with little fuss he pulled the hands on Marshall's back. The leather was soft and flexible, he wrapped it around the wrists and secured it. A few tugs to check that the belt wouldn't come off accidentally. Then he climbed on the bed himself, "You like this, don't you?", and he knelt right in front of Marshall

Whose nod was expected. The enthusiasm still visible with the grin on his kissable lips and the sparkle in his jittery blue eyes. But there was something else. "Did you bring more fun toys?"

"I don't need more toys", Nicolas answered. A strong push against Marshall's chest and he toppled backwards, the hand stayed on the chest and pressed the man hard into the mattress. Nicolas's other hand came around Marshall's neck and gripped the wiry throat tightly.

Surprised Marshall gasped.

Another squeeze, Nicolas pressed his thumb into the soft triangle of muscle and rubbed slowly over the skin. He could feel Marshall trying to swallow. Maybe raw strength would keep the man from hurting himself?

But the surprise was quickly replaced by a playful grin. "No, you don't", and Marshall shifted his lower body, wrapped his legs around Nicolas's waist. A tug closer. "You got one hell of a toy right here."

Nicolas huffed, he really should've seen this coming. Taking his hand away from the chest, he hooked it underneath one of Marshall's knees and rolled the lower half of him on its side. The hand on the throat securely stayed in place. The little twist the fine body had to make accentuated the ribs underneath the pale skin, all the muscles of his upper body couldn't hide how lean he was.

"Oh, you want my ass?", Marshall asked and wiggled his hips as a demonstration. "Good choice. It needs a strong hand, you know what I'm saying?" A wiggle of eyebrows.

Yes, he knew. Marshall wasn't hard to read, especially not like this. Though perhaps, some truth was in this sentence. A strong hand, he reacted strongly to that and perhaps it wasn't only very hot but also useful. Nicolas squeezed the throat again, his other hand pushed Marshall's knees into the mattress. "What's this all about?", he asked.

The first response was a blink, before it turned into a flirty grin. "I wa-", Marshall swallowed around the hand squeezing his throat, "I wanna fuck you, dumbass."

"But why?", Nicolas asked again.

A stunted shrug, Marshall's own weight laying on his arms hindered the gesture. "'Cause you're sexy as fuck. Ever looked in the mirror?"

"But why?", Nicolas asked again.

Marshall frowned. "How the hell would I know? You're a sexy-ass motherfucker, ask yourself why." He rocked his shoulders from left to right as if this would ease the strain his arms were under, of course it wouldn't.

"I meant, why you need to fuck me so bad? I always look like this." He wouldn't allow Marshall to wiggle out of this so easily, not with weak words like this and not with weak fighting like this.

"You're fucking naked, that always revs up sexy. I can see your fucking dick, dude." Now he turned his head from side to side, but Nicolas's grip on his throat held on tight.

Nicolas smirked amused. "You never seen a dick before? I have a hard time believing that."

Marshall stuck his tongue out. "I seen plenty dick, asshole. I sucked plenty dick - c'mere and I show you." With that he opened his mouth and the tip of his tongue was winking invitingly.

So, so tempting … Nicolas pressed his thumb into the wiry throat hard for a moment and the mouth closed, Marshall's eyes closed. An expression between pain and pleasure. "How many?", Nicolas asked.

A weak twitch of the shoulders. "Dunno. Enough."

"Take a guess." Honestly, Nicolas had no idea where to put the ballpark for what number to expect. On the one hand, Marshall could be rather permissive in his sexuality like inviting a random stranger to join in or wearing a toy during a party - so the ceiling for this number seemed ridiculously high. On the other hand, Marshall could be really secretive when it came to anything personal or gay - so how many people would he have realistically shown this to? Not too many, presumably.

Marshall grinned playfully, "Two this year so far. Does that count?"

"Come, give me a real number."

"Uhm … Well, you and Ryan", Marshall listed the obvious, "And then there was this vanilla guy last month and uh … Maybe, like, about two dozen last year? Or more. I don't keep book, you know."

Nicolas cocked his head, "Maybe you should."

"What about you?", Marshall asked back.

Another tight squeeze to the throat, Nicolas felt a moan buzz against his hand. "You haven't answered my question."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Fuck you and your questions."

"Why you wanna fuck me so badly?", he repeated the actual question. Sometimes Marshall was way too good at redirecting a conversation. Avoiding a topic he didn't want to talk about must be like a sport, and it really annoyed Nicolas in situations like these.

"Who wouldn't wanna fuck you? I'd throw myself on you every day of the week." Marshall struggled against the hold he was in with his whole body, stretching his back long but Nicolas's hands were unmoved.

He smirked amused. "It might shock you, but real people don't do that. Must be a rockstar thing."

Dark Marshall glared at him. "Can't you just fuck me already? You got me naked, you got my ass - just stick it in. Ain't that hard." Another wiggle with his ass.

"But why?", Nicolas asked again.

"God", Marshall groaned, "'Cause I'm horny. Ain't that obvious?"

A short nod, very obvious, Marshall's dick still erect, "But why?"

"'Cause I fucking am. I always am. Learn to live with it and fuck me."

But Nicolas squeezed on his throat instead. "But why?"

For a moment Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath, or at least tried to with Nicolas's hand around his neck. When he opened his eyes again, this something else was there again like a gloomy veil over the bright blue eyes. "I'm a horny, needy slut, that's why."

His thumb rubbed over the soft skin again and Nicolas leaned down, softly he kissed Marshall. "I know", he answered with their lips touching, "My adorable slut." Nothing he would change.

Warm Marshall smiled back, but also sad. Was this where the gloomy veil was coming from, sadness? Sadness about that he was who he was? Self-loathing was deeply rooted in this man's soul.

"But why?", Nicolas asked again with as soft a voice as he could manage. His thumb kept caressing along the Adam's apple.

"'Cause it's fun", Marshall said with a fake grin.

Nicolas shook his head.

"'Cause it's what I am", Marshall tried again.

Nicolas shook his head.

"What you want from me?", Marshall asked with desperation on his face and thrashed his legs for freedom.

But Nicolas's hand on his knees kept them in place. "I want a real answer. Why do you need to fuck so badly that you're willing to risk everything? Your relationship with your wife and with your daughters and with your friends. Your health. Your career possibly. Why?" Was sex really worth it? Nicolas couldn't believe.

Harsh Marshall shook his head. "Get off me!"

"Answer me", Nicolas demanded. He pressed his thumb sharply into the back of Marshall's knee.

"Aah!", he yelled and kicked out, only to hit empty air.

"Answer me", Nicolas demanded again. He wouldn't let this up. Something was going on here and Marshall had to face it. Even if he wasn't ready, probably he wasn't ready but that couldn't be considered right now. If he faced this darkness, perhaps the pain lessened.

"Fuck off!", Marshall yelled and struggled against the hold he was in.

Nicolas held on tight. "Why you need to fuck?"

"'Cause it's fun!", Marshall shouted and the bright blue eyes pierced into Nicolas, "'Cause it's what I am! I'm a horny, needy slut! Now fuck me already!"

"Why?", Nicolas asked, he could feel his voice scratch the back of his throat.

Marshall tossed his body from side to side, struggled hard against the hands holding him down.

"Why?"

Eyes screwed shut Marshall shook his head.

"Why?"

When the eyes opened again, the gloomy veil took away their color. "I need to make it right", Marshall answered. Finally they were getting closer to the truth.

"Why?", Nicolas kept asking. There was still a level deeper to this and Marshall wasn't strong enough yet to uncover it by himself, but he needed to know. Nicolas would find it out for him. Lightly he loosened the grip around the wiry throat, his thumb caressed the skin.

Marshall took a deep breath now that his throat permitted one again. "I hurt you. I need to make it up to you. You deserve better", and he looked like he was close to tears again.

"I already forgiven you", Nicolas explained. "You cheated, you apologized - why don't you move on?" Emotions weren't logical, he knew, which not only made them unpredictable but also contorted.

Weakly Marshall shook his head again. "I hurt you. I need to make it right. You can't stay with me." He bit his lower lip hard, there was a drop of blood. "You deserve better. I can't cheat on you again, I can't have sex anymore - you deserve better. You can't stay with me."

He took his hand away from Marshall's knees, the legs laid limply on the bed, and brought it next to Marshall's head. Nicolas propped himself up on his forearm and his fingertips brushed against the shortly cropped hair. Bending down like this, their faces were close and the unmistakable scent of peach was in his nose again, sweet and soft like the man himself. "I want to be with you."

Another shake of his head, so weak. "I'm just a slut … You can find better."

"You're my adorable slut", Nicolas corrected and stroked along Marshall's jawline.

"I'm ugly and useless", Marshall protested, his lips only moved weakly.

A gentle kiss. "You're my Ice Princess." He could taste the drop of blood on his own lips, also sweet.

Tears glimmered in the blue eyes, the gloomy veil took away all their vividness. "Not anymore. We were true and I broke it."

They've been here before. What more could Nicolas do? The good book said, to affirm your partner. He did and with great care. It wasn't difficult, there was much to like about Marshall, he was thoughtful and funny and energetic. Of course it couldn't work in a day, emotions were too complicated for that, but Nicolas would've liked for it to work at least a little. His Christmas present had seemed to work, or so he had believed but obviously that's wrong.

But when forgiveness and affirmations weren't enough, what was Nicolas left to do?

Marshall lay beneath him, hands tied up behind his back and legs bend to the side. Eyes watery, heart broken, life weighed down by guilt. He bit his lower lip, face tentatively nestled against Nicolas's hand, breath shallow.

Perhaps he did need a strong hand? Now Marshall was calmer and more true to his self, though Nicolas still wouldn't call this present. A similar thing had happened on the plane, forcing Marshall away from his self destructive horniness had given way to earnest reactions. He did have a tendency to ease under pressure, to yield when Nicolas used force - which was a delicate thing.

"But you can fix it", Nicolas said, the hint of an idea forming in his mind.

Marshall's eyes flickered, astonishment on the beautiful face. "I can?", a question of disbelief.

"You hurt me and I deserve better", Nicolas explained using Marshall's own words, "You can make it up to me - but it has to be my choice."

Eagerly Marshall nodded, "Anything. You can fuck me however you want."

Nicolas shook his head. "You need to do penance for what you did. You need to confess to your sins and suffer the rightful punishment." Perhaps it wasn't enough that Nicolas gave his forgiveness, perhaps Marshall had to earn it? Perhaps he needed a strong hand to submit to, someone stronger than him he could yield liability to?

"What?", Marshall frowned confused. "You want me to go to church?"

A little smirk about his own exaggeratedness. Why not? "I will be your priest", Nicolas explained, "But be warned, reciting a prayer won't make amends with me. Here, you atone through pain." He re-tightened the grip around Marshall's neck again, the buzz of a moan.

"Uhm …", Marshall looked at him unsure for a long moment, his body shifted uncomfortable.

"Of course you can always leave, no one can force you into a confession." This was already too much. "If you want to leave the confessional, just say _Ave Maria_. She prays for your sins." Almost convenient that Delico's search for meaning had included religion at one point, the boy was too fragile for this life. There was no meaning. But the books had passed time well enough at least. "Understood?"

A short nod mostly hindered by Nicolas's hand around Marshall's throat. "I-I …", he started but didn't finish. Marshall closed his eyes, was that a way to calm himself down? Like he was biting his lips all the time? Then he started again: "Bless me, for I have sinned. It has been … too long since my last confession. I have wronged people I love and I repent of my actions."

"Tell me what you did and you shall receive just punishment."

Marshall shook his head lightly. "This is a bit weird, don't you think?"

Nicolas cocked his head. "You want to make it up to me or not?"

A sigh, "Fine." Marshall swallowed, his Adam's apple pressed against Nicolas's hand. "I, uhm … I scared my daughters. They worry about me 'cause of all the shit I do and I broke my promise to them. I promised to do better, but I failed them."

Understanding Nicolas nodded, "To fail his human, still one should try to keep promises. This is worth one strike." His hand smacked down on Marshall's ass, the firm cheek was a great place to hit and with Marshall half lying on his side, it presented perfectly for this.

Marshall's body jerked. "The hell?"

"Told you, you atone through pain", Nicolas explained with a grin. Hopefully a strong hand would help and give Marshall at least a little bit of peace with all the pain he harbored.

Deeply Marshall breathed in, a short nod. "I … I broke up with you via text. That's just fucking shitty."

"True", Nicolas agreed, "But otherwise it was honest and amicable, so it's overall a small thing. This is worth one strike." Again his hand smacked down on Marshall's ass, a little prickle in his hand.

Another twitch in Marshall's body. "Fuck … And when I broke up with you at the cemetery, that was shitty, too. You were so nice and sympathetic about the cheating and everything and I was just a jerk."

"True", Nicolas agreed, that had been a rather shitty night. Marshall was good in finding words that hurt. "You lashed out, perhaps with a reason deep inside you, but that isn't an excuse. This is worth two strikes." His hand smacked down on Marshall's ass once, twice and the skin was turning pink.

A tremor through Marshall's body and his legs twitched, his breathing grew shallow. "I'm so fucking sorry I fucked Ryan, both times, every time. I … I did it on purpose", he was thrashing his face to the side, into the teal covers but Nicolas still saw the first tears leaving the eyes. "At the Christmas market I wanted Ryan to fuck me, I flirted with him and everything. We spent the whole night, I didn't really care when his wife called even. I just wanted his dick. I wanted him to fuck my brains out, to just … just … I needed to fuck and I know he fucks good."

Nicolas drew his forehead into a frown. Almost sounded like Marshall was using Ryan just as much as Ryan was using him. Was that a balance? "That's pretty fucked up", he agreed, "You could've texted me, I'm sure I could've made time for you."

"No. No, that's not-", Marshall shook his head. "You're my boyfriend, you deserve better."

"What?" He deserved better than sex with his own boyfriend? How did that make sense? Of course, emotions didn't need to make sense and darkness like this probably never made much sense at all.

Watery eyes looked up at him, "You shouldn't see me like that - like this. An-and I wanted him to wear me out, I hadn't had many dicks in my hole for … I don't know, feels like forever and, but the thought of a part of my body - of me not being worn out and spent … No, I can't have that. I can't ask you to deal with that. I need to be ready for you."

Nicolas's hand around the fragile neck loosened again, a thumb caressed the line of the jaw. "You can ask anything of me." What was Marshall so insecure about? His words didn't bring much clarity. "You should have asked me. A relationship isn't only for the good times but also for the bad times. I'm not perfect and neither are you, but that is okay."

Weakly Marshall shook his head, not believing and not agreeing.

"How often did you do it that night?", Nicolas asked. Affirmation and logic hadn't worked before, no point in trying again now.

"Not sure", Marshall answered, his eyes bashfully looking away. "It's pretty much a blur, like … Three times I'm sure of, that was pretty distinct, and at least one with a vibrator - but inbetween that? Maybe more, like one or two or three, I don't know. Not sure his dick left my hole even, I can't be empty, I need a dick there." The plea contorted Marshall's face and his body jerked weakly, begging to make it true again, right now. His hard dick red and needy.

Lightly Nicolas stroked with his fingertips across the ass that was equally red and needy, the skin warm where he had hit it before. That sounded like one busy night, Ryan really was milking this friendship. "Hm, so four you're sure about and let's say maybe one more, that's enough for one night if you ask me. It's quite a number. And you deserve one strike for not coming to me to fuck you and another strike for deciding what I deserve or want by yourself - I can decide that by my own, you know."

Marshall bit his lips.

"That's seven strikes you deserve as punishment for the night with Ryan", Nicolas declared his verdict. His hand smacked down on the ass again: once, twice, thrice and the cheek was glowing red.

Marshall's body jerked with each slap. Moreover he was moaning, Nicolas felt the hum within the throat buzz against his hand. The cock twitched with each slap, the first drops of precum leaked and Nicolas couldn't exactly say he was surprised to see this - or that it wouldn’t be turning him on. But the point of this wasn't to succumb to the temptation and to dick Marshall down hard, even though everything about him was begging to and his own desires were starting as well.

His hand continued to hit the body beneath him, now aiming for the back of Marshall's thigh to even the pain and color. A bright red behind was looking phenomenally good on the man. Again one smack, two, three and the thick thigh muscle trembled underneath each hit, the skin turning red in the shape of Nicolas's hand. Under his other hand around Marshall's neck Nicolas could feel moans and whimpers coming through the throat, breath shallow.

The last hit was aimed directly at the little fold where ass and thigh met and after the smack Nicolas's hand stayed there gently rubbing and kneading the abused skin, massaging his thumb into the abused muscles. Nicolas's own hand prickled in pain of a thousand needles from all this and it made it all more erotic.

Taking a pause, Marshall's labored breath needed time to stabilize again. Eyes closed in pain and pleasure, head thrown back to give Nicolas's hand more room to hold on to his neck tightly. When he opened his eyes again fervor shone in them and wet streaks ran down his face. "That I fucked hi-", Marshall cleared his throat.

And Nicolas let him and loosened his grip around the throat. Hooking his other hand underneath Marshall's knees again, he rolled him over onto his other side, exposing a virgin ass cheek to receive the next punishment. Nicolas had a feeling there was more.

Marshall didn't fight against the hold anymore, accepting easily the slight change in position. "That I fucked him in front of you - that's fucking shameful."

"That was something", Nicolas agreed. Though he had to give Ryan one thing: He was good looking. If his personality wasn't so shitty, Nicolas might've said yes to the threesome. Perhaps. "But we had an understanding that you could."

"But you're my boyfriend", Marshall insisted. "Instead of celebrating New Year's with you, I fucked him. Twice."

"I know." That night had no secrets.

"A-and we did more", now Marshall was eager to tell, his lips stumbling over the words, "Blowjobs in the studio and phone sex and, I mean, I have a key to his place, like he has an extra apartment to meet his mistress and side bitches."

Nicolas raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Really? Isn't he crafty." He sensed a whole lot of hypocrisy hiding in that information, nothing that was raising his opinion of Ryan. But, this wasn't of concern right now. "We have an arrangement however, you're free to have sex with whoever. And if your fling with Ryan bothered me that much, I wouldn't have spent New Year's at his house." What was there to punish about something that was explicitly allowed?

"Of course it bothers you", Marshall objected, "How could it not? I fucked him in front of you - instead of you. That's awful!" He tried to rub some of the tears from his face with his shoulder, but it didn't do much good.

A quick, sharp smack. "Stop telling me what I feel", Nicolas wasn't having this conversation again.

Marshall kneaded his lower lip between his teeth, gaze lowered with shame.

This wasn't going well … "What else?"

"When … When we broke up", Marshall started, lips barely moving, "I fucked that up so hard, not just with you. I-I called Ryan and Worick to go clubbing, to fuck them actually … I don't know, mostly to spite you, to prove that I don't need you, you know? That I can get plenty dick without you, that it doesn't matter who I fuck, that … that's better with other people anyway maybe. It didn't happen in the end, but - but I dreamed about it, how they would take me and fuck me and fill my holes … that I'd be their adorable slut, too. Turns out, it was all you, you was everywhere and … and I should've called you immediately and apologized, should've done the right thing that night. But I didn't." He shifted in his binding, unable to free himself. "I wanted that dream to come true first. I rather some other people fuck me mindless instead of being a good boyfriend to you."

Nicolas frowned deeply. Hadn't Marshall mentioned this dream before? Why was this one so special? He was pretty sure Marshall had other sex dreams, so why was he feeling guilty about this one? But what worried him more was the name: Worick, those lip movements he recognized anywhere. Had it already happened? Nicolas's heart beat faster. "Worick?"

"Yeah, he's - uhm …", Marshall blinked a moment blankly, thinking, "I met him not long ago. Nice guy, saved me from freezing to death probably and, uh, we text sometimes?"

This would end badly. "Did you sleep with him, too?"

A strong shake of his head. "No! No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't do that to you, I …", Marshall interrupted himself. He tried to take a deep breath, but Nicolas's hand around his throat was hindering that. "Well, I flirted with him by accident - I didn't mean to, I really didn't. And he's straight anyway, he doesn't really mean it, you know."

"Mean what?" This was a risk Nicolas hadn't considered yet: How easily susceptible Marshall was to flirting and sexual manipulation. Not like this anyway, that Worick wouldn't even need to work hard to destroy defenses and common sense, but that Marshall's need for sex was doing this all on its own.

"Well, he has a weird sense of humor sometimes", Marshall was evading the answer and so Nicolas pressed his thumb into the soft triangle of his throat. A choking pant for air and Marshall swallowed hard around it, uselessly. "He - he flirts back but only a little and … And I think he takes me for a hooker - Which I get! Really! I'd probably think the same considering how we met, so …", a heartbeat passed, "They're his texts yesterday, he wanted me at his party."

So the game had already started. Fuck. "Did he want you as a hooker?" Easy to believe Marshall would like the idea on some level, not averse to a lot of sex or random people having sex with him, excited when called a slut - playing hooker at a party fit right in. Nicolas wasn't surprised that Worick had seen this most wide opening from a mile away and that he had no scruple using it.

"It's just a joke", Marshall defended.

"Be careful, Kitten", Nicolas said and his thumb caressed along Marshall's neck. "Jokes can go wrong, too. Sometimes people aren't as good as they seem."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Don't worry 'bout me. I been paranoid about people for more than a decade now. I can look after myself."

Nicolas bent down to press a soft kiss on Marshall's lips. He sure hoped so. "Well, dreams and thoughts are nothing to be ashamed of", he took up their game again. "But that you want a porny dream to come true more than you want our relationship to work out - that's fucked up." Not surprising with Marshall, it would almost be cute if it wasn't so destructive. "This is worth two strikes." An imprint was glowing on the cheek from earlier, one, two more smacks fell down on it. The perfect curve colored in red and Nicolas felt his own heartbeat throb in his groin.

Marshall moaned and his whole body jerked with each hit. His legs moved limply back and forth, trying to get his ass away from this and trying to get his ass closer to this.

"And that you texted about a date with someone else while on a date with me - that's pretty shitty, too", Nicolas explained further. A tempting idea flashed his mind, to spank Marshall so long until he deletes Worick's number for good and never meets him again … "That's worth one strike." But Worick was his best friend and his problem - not Marshall's. His hand fell down on the thigh, this hand now felt like covered in needles as well. Fondly Nicolas rubbed the thigh.

A weak nod from Marshall, cheeks flushed in a light pink color and his lips were red and swollen from all the constant biting. "That's just 'cause … 'cause I'm a needy slut. I just need to - need to fuck. I can't control myself and … and I'm sorry you have to suffer through that. That I'm too selfish to let you go and", again he bit his lips, "And I don't knowif it's 'cause I'm horny for you or if … or if I actually like you." The blue eyes watery and with pain in them, from his spanked ass hurting surely but also from hurt feelings. Insecurity on his face, not only arousal.

Deep down Marshall knew even if he didn't trust himself in this moment. Or so Nicolas wanted to believe, certain that Marshall liked him back. "It would be good if you knew", he agreed, "But to be confused his human, to be selfish his human. You should strive to be better but you don't have to be perfect." Too much pressure on this man's shoulders. "This is worth one strike." Again his hand smacked down.

Another tremor through Marshall's body, moaning. He thrashed his head to the side, body twisted in Nicolas's hold. "I'm so far away from perfect. I'm ugly and useless … I'm a waste of life."

A string of words so deeply etched into the man's soul that Nicolas was starting to think it might never go away. Every time Marshall said this, Nicolas felt more pain seeing these words come out of this mouth, were believed by this kind man. He wanted to shake Marshall awake, wanted to shake the truth into him. But he might have to conceit that Marshall would never stop seeing himself as unworthy even though he was such a stunning, gorgeous, adorable creature.

There was no way Nicolas could agree to this being true or being worth punishment. "Why?", he asked instead.

"'Cause I am", was the answer. Tears fresh.

"No, you're not." Nicolas gave up his hold on the neck but instead his hand fondly cupped the sad face, thumb caressing the cheek bone. "You're beautiful and meaningful and you make life worthwhile."

Weakly Marshall shook his head, lips moving in denial but too faint for words.

"I want to be with you." Why couldn't he help?

"You don't know me", the gloomy veil in Marshall's eyes was nothing but darkness.

Why couldn't anybody help? "Nothing can make me feel different." If only he could be Marshall's light, just for one quick moment could be enough.

Marshall was avoiding his gaze, face turned to the side and half pressed into the teal colored covers. The rest of his body unmoved and twisted.

What else was there to say? The book had nothing about affirmations that just weren't believed. He couldn't force Marshall to believe him, a strong hand didn't make that happen.

"Just fuck me already."

How much he wanted to kill this sentence! "Stop saying that." Nicolas clenched one of his fists, fabric of the covers stuck between his fingers. "Can't you see what you're doing? You're hurting yourself." This wasn't any situation to fuck, even if their erections were calling for it - nothing else did. The words meant to shield from real feelings but ended up stabbing them repeatedly. Way too common.

"As if you care", and Marshall shifted and wiggled again, trying to get out of his bind.

"I fucking care", Nicolas answered for what felt like the hundredth time. This would be so much easier if he didn't care, but that was a logic Marshall didn't seem to understand. "But I don't know how." He knew how to inflict pain, not how to take it away. No word and no hug could kill stubbornness. As long as Marshall wasn't able to believe anything good about himself, there wasn't much Nicolas could do, was there? Time travel seemed the easier answer, less impossible than what Nicolas had been trying to do for the last few months. Taking away pain wasn't as good as preventing it from happening in the first place. But that ship had sailed far too long ago.

Marshall shook his head strongly. "No, you fucking don't. You only say nice things to get me here - like this. So I writhe in pain, so you can fuck me all broken. You're a fucking asshole!"

"I'm trying to help you." Not that it worked. Not that it mattered. Nicolas pulled Marshall up into a sitting position."You're an amazing person. Even if I wouldn't care, you'd still be amazing. Your friends know that, your daughters know that, your fans know that." He untied Marshall's hands from the belt. "Millions of people all over the world love you and look up to you and feel saved by you - how's that useless or ugly or a waste? That's amazing."

Marshall scurried off the bed, rubbing his wrists where the belt had chafed against the skin. "They watch me like a zoo animal", he scoffed, "That ain't amazing, that's awful. I can't even enjoy a date with my boyfriend in peace, that's what that is." Hurriedly he climbed into his sweatpants and pulled a t-shirt over his head. "Go fuck yourself."

Frustrated Nicolas rubbed his hands over his face. How did they end up fighting so often? "Kitten", he said hopefully softly and reached his hand out, "You are a wonderful person and I care about you a whole lot. I want you to be okay … but I don't think you are. Can't we, I don't know, can't we just lay here?" Was laying together comforting? Sometimes it was nice to feel the presence of someone else.

"Fuck you", Marshall cursed him out again and flipped him the finger. "You don't care and you won't fuck me - this is fucking pointless. I'm out!" With that, Marshall walked out the room and slammed the door shut.

"Why don't you believe me?", Nicolas asked into the emptiness of the hotel room, staring at the closed door. This was why he didn't come close to people, it only fucking hurt.

With a sense of defeat he fell back onto the bed, the mattress lightly bouncing underneath him. Now what? Should he run after Marshall and try desperately to get them back together? Firstly, if Marshall didn't want him or wasn't able to be in this relationship, this had not future and no sense. Secondly, even Nicolas had a bit of pride he wanted to preserve. Thirdly, this wouldn't end well and here was his chance to leave. So many reasons to leave.

Tired he heaved himself out of bed, feeling heavy and empty and strained. Perhaps back home there was a job waiting for him with some good old brawling, perhaps an errand that needed his sword to complete, perhaps an assignment that would spill some blood. Anything to blow off steam. While wishing this, he put his pants on and grabbed his phone from one of the pockets. Of course Worick had texted him too many times, making fun of the date as if they were still teenagers daring each other to lose their virginity. Not that they had really gone through this particular phase, virginity was expensive. But Nicolas frowned as he read something else between all the jokes.

you better don't take too long or Chad will find out. and you know what that means

shall I warn Monroe? I'm sure he's going to be more forgiving with his punishment, he always liked you

I'm kinda hurt you didn't ask my permission though. as if I would keep you from your honeybunch. we could've come up with a good excuse, I'm always here to help

The plastic of the phone cracked underneath Nicolas's grip. Rough he stuffed the phone into the messenger bag, out of sight out of mind. With harsher pulls than necessary he put the belt back through the little loops. He didn't want Worick anywhere near this relationship or Marshall and the guy knew that. Nicolas rather took the punishment for leaving the city without permission than to have Worick stick his nose even more into this than he already did. All his joking couldn't hide what he was really doing, they knew each other too long to pretend otherwise.

As his head poked through the t-shirt, a new question came to Nicolas's mind: What if he didn't go back? He could just leave the country, Mexico wasn't too far from here and it probably was easier to disappear somewhere down in South America. The continent was huge and governmental organization could be spotty, some places far away from reach.

Was it worth it? He put his boots on. Running away was easy but meaningless and he had nothing to run towards. Maybe now without anyone close by, without any supervision, without anyone to stop him, maybe now was the time to end it? It's been twenty years, wasn't that enough pain that he had earned to finally die? As if he had much longer to live anyway …

His bag closed, he looked to the bed that wanted to promise fun and comfort but didn't. A faint hint of peach was in the air, sweet and growing cold. »I hope you find your light, Ice Princess.«

Nicolas left.


	64. Just Lay Here With Me, Baby, Hold Me Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall and Nicolas try again to not break up. Maybe some cuddling will help?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck", every word hurt his throat. Marshall swallowed hard, more pain was squeezing his throat close and he angrily wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, but the tears didn't stop. "Shit, shit, shit", barely audible and he was alone anyway. He would always be alone. He pressed his knees against his chest, arms tightly wrapped around his shins and the curve of his back hit against the wall. Eyes focused on the display counting up the floors for the elevator. Not that he had anywhere to go.

_Fucking crybaby! Go back and fuck him already! Or go to Big Eight's room, he'll like a good blowjob, won't he? Fucking whore!_

His fingers clawed deeper into the fabric of his sweatpants. It was soft against his hard dick and soaking up the drops of precum he leaked, the want for more screamed in his bones. So his fingers clawed deeper into the fabric, scratching the skin underneath. Holding on to himself was all he had left, his body taut with need and angst and desperation and disgust. If he could just manage to sit here, to not move, to have this thing wash over him …

But he couldn't keep his body from moving. A hand slank down into his pants and fisted his dick, arousal still here and still begging for attention. Pain tingled in his ass cheeks, a good feeling, a deserved feeling. Face pressed against his tucked up knees, hidden away from view that he shouldn't expect. The whole floor was booked in his fake name, nobody should be walking these halls. Yet he was completely exposed and this threat felt equally as good as the pain.

_Fuckin' pervert! This ain't good enough. You need a dick in your hole! Fuckin' faggot, you're a slut. You only matter with a dick in your hole!_

Even then he didn't matter but was only the means to an end - to someone else's pleasure. Which was fine, people always cared more about themselves than others, it was part of the human condition. Still it gnawed on him. The illusion of a different world had been tempting, where someone did care for him and wanted to be with him for his own sake, not for the spoils. But it always came down to this: His hole pitifully empty, his mouth pitifully empty and his dick beggingly hard. Maybe a funny punchline he could put into a song.

His release was as pathetic as his existence. Why was he so fucking wrong? With disgust he looked at his hand and the white substance that had spluttered on it. _Suck his dick, slut! You need a fucking dick in your pussy!_ He felt so empty. Raising his hand close to his face, Marshall licked the cum off his fingers. His own wasn't what he needed. Closing his eyes he could lie to himself that he was licking off Nicolas's, that the fingers belonged to Nicolas. Maybe somebody else, it didn't really matter.

"Therapy doesn't make you into a different person." Echo of a female voice, of a truth he couldn't bear to hear. They could teach him to act better but he wouldn't become someone else. He was this: a slut with a loose pussy, an ugly useless nobody, a waste of life. Not even turning himself straight had worked in the end, why did he expect he could turn his core into something different? Why was this his core anyway? Wasn't he more? Couldn't he be a person some day? Compulsions and obsessions, she said, was that this feeling of subjection? Being at the utter mercy of something that didn't feel or think? Had he ever liked sex or was he just lying to himself? Why else would he feel a sense of belonging when he sucked a random guy's dick off? Even as a kid, it had to be a lie. Finding home and pride in being a sex toy, how was that a truth? His hole puckered with want, his ass burned from Nicolas's hand. Marshall wanted more.

Weakly he shook his head, face pressed against his knees. Nicolas tried so hard to be with him but Marshall could only do and say the wrong things in response. More of the things that wouldn't change. Because he didn't know how relationships really worked? Wasn't like his mother been a good role model or that the years with Kim had taught him the right things to do. Or because he rather lived the lie of a slut? Telling himself his life was good, that not remembering the faces of people he fucked was fine, that being mistaken for an actual whore was fine, that being handed around a party was fine. After all he wanted it, he liked it, he sought it out. Having a boyfriend and being a side bitch wasn't enough after all. Of course spending a party with a toy in his ass was better than without, no question. He needed all his holes stuffed, always, cum spurt on him or into him made everything better. How did he actually believe this shit? He was fucking sick.

Yet, Nicolas unremittingly tried to be with him. "You're too late to save me." Marshall had been rotten from birth.

"I know", a husky voice answered.

Startled Marshall looked up, hands hurriedly rubbed the tears out of his eyes and from his face. Not trusting voices, not trusting vision: black boots and olive green cargo pants. He was only wrong.

Nicolas stood next to the elevator, bag shouldered and the display had almost counted down to this floor. For once he looked as small as he was.

Down Marshall's spine ran a shiver. Anger, embarrassment, exhaustion, fear, confusion, misery, helplessness all here but he couldn't do nothing. What was there to say? What should he do? Wasn't it best for Nicolas to leave? Wasn't it best for Marshall to be left? He felt so much worse now than he had in years, probably since DeShaun had gone. He shouldn't put Nicolas through all this hurtful bullshit, he shouldn't stay where he hurt, too. They weren't good for each other. The story of his life. »I'm sorry«, a fist circled across his chest.

_Suck his dick!_

A melodic beep from the elevator and its doors slid open smoothly, ready to take in passengers. But neither of them moved.

Marshall didn't have the strength to stand up and go anywhere. He didn't even want to go somewhere, only to not be here anymore, to not be himself anymore, to stop being this … this thing. He pulled his arms tighter around his knees, hands held on to himself and fingers dug into the fabric, into his own flesh. _If you don't suck his dick, why're you even here? You ain't worth it without a dick in your hole. You don't fucking matter when you don't at least jerk somebody off. Just jump out the window and end it all. Who would even notice? You hide away in your studio and if a hologram did your shows, it'd be the same. The girls get all your money, so they're taken care of. What're you here for anymore? If you ain't gonna fuck people no more, you don't need to exist. Just end it, bitch._

It only took a step for Nicolas to kneel in front of him, face dark and tense. »I'm sorry«, his own fist drew a circle across his chest.

»You better go …« This was such a mess. Nicolas deserved better and Marshall couldn't give that to him. He rather held on to the lie that he was fine.

»Will you be okay?«, Nicolas asked instead, being too nice still.

Marshall only shrugged. No, he wouldn't be but if he put his pain into a song, it might fool him into believing he was. "I'm fine." He had all his lies to cling to after all.

Nicolas sighed.

Marshall bit his lips, it hurt. Pain sharp to feel. "I don't know", he whispered and his voice cracked, "I can't stop." Had he ever been okay? He buried his face in his arms again, if he didn't see this mess it wasn't here. Another lie easy to believe.

"If you want", Nicolas's deep voice asked and his warm, rough hand stroked Marshall's head, "You can cry and I hold you?"

Looking up doubtful, Marshall didn't want to dig up hope. He didn't deserve hope, always doing the wrong things. "It's okay, just go. I deal with it … somehow. You just find somebody better and be kinky with them." He had always found a way, had worked and fought hard for his achievements. This wouldn't be any different. More lies.

"Maybe you don't have to deal with it now?"

Marshall cocked his head with puzzlement. What a stupid question was that?

»What I mean is«, Nicolas signed, »Sometimes you can't do anything. I've been there a lot of times and you feel helpless and powerless and overwhelmed. You know that this thing is wrong or bad, that it needs to stop - but it doesn't and you simply can't do shit.« Nicolas sat down in front of Marshall. »Adding the pressure that you need to surpass yourself, that you need to be better, that you need to earn this relief - it makes everything worse. A lot of shit isn't our fault as a person, we can only try to live with it. Sometimes, all you can do in a given moment is accept that you can't do anything. Maybe someone else can, maybe later you can - but right now, right here there's nothing you can do.« A rough thumb wiped away some of the tears from Marshall's face. »And that's okay.«

"But I broke my promise! I failed my daughters … I failed you." He had thought now sober he would have himself under control, that now when his head was clear and sharp his life would be better. But this couldn't be further from the truth. He was still an ugly, useless nobody. He was still a slut with a loose pussy. He would always be wrong.

Nicolas smiled thinly, sympathetically, »True, but does it matter? You fucked shit up, so what? Life's messy, it always will be. You will fail again sometime, somehow. That doesn't mean you're a waste of life, it only means you're human.« A word Nicolas kept repeating so often. »And you're an amazing human at that. See, I only strive to be better at killing people, but you strive to be a better person. You should be proud of yourself.«

Again Marshall shook his head, the words were too nice to really mean him. "I'm just a guy, there's nothing special about me."

»Well, then there's no reason to think you have to fix everything right fucking now«, Nicolas explained with a sad little smirk.

_Suck his dick!_ Uncertain Marshall frowned at this. He couldn't just leave things this messy and not do shit about it, could he? What had he been doing all this time anyway? Wallow in self-pity. Not helpful.

»My offer still stands«, Nicolas held out his hand.

"You're way too nice to me", Marshall objected. Why was Nicolas still trying so hard? He should just leave but the elevator had closed and gone.

Nicolas shrugged unbothered. »Only to you.«

For a long moment Marshall focused his eyes on the hand reaching out to him. Its meaning quite clear: Nicolas wanted to be with him. Then, Marshall took the hand and the unmistakable warmth Nicolas's body radiated spread through his fingertips, little electric sparks. Maybe holding on to him could help? Maybe they weren't good for each other but in this moment it felt right. An unsure smile.

The rough fingers held firm as Nicolas pulled Marshall up standing, their hands interlocking. Hands holding on while they walked.

The door to the hotel room wasn't far from the elevator but the steps still took forever. The carpet floor absorbed most of the noise, the feeling soft and fuzzy against Marshall's naked feet, almost like home. Another illusion. He tugged at his sweats, the stain of cum clammy against his skin and calling out for more. _Suck his dick! Let him pump his jizz into your hole. You know, you need it, slut!_ He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye and small, colorful dots danced in the blackness. The other was squeezed softly by Nicolas. _You need more cum inside your pussy. I know he do it. Why don't you spread your ass for him again, fag, that seemed to do the trick._ Marshall wanted to but didn't want to.

They crossed the threshold into the room, a low click as the door closed again. Only half looking Marshall stumbled through the room towards the bed, Nicolas's hand on his back guiding him. Exhausted he fell onto the bed, rolled onto his back. The ceiling was spinning above him. A dance of spite and glee, the light gray color laughing down at him because of what a fuck-up he was. He couldn't even flirt his boyfriend into sex with him but forced him in a most crude way. Shit. Marshall groaned.

The mattress dipped next to him as Nicolas crawled onto the bed.

But Marshall rolled away from him, rolled onto his stomach mostly to bury his face in the teal covers but also to lie on his arms and keep them from moving. Already felt the pull towards Nicolas's body, the need to feel the warm skin on his, to feel the rough hands on him, to be filled out by his dick. He shook his head about this unending craving. _Suck his dick! Get your ass out! Fuck him hard! Slut!_

A warm hand on his shoulder and Nicolas asked: "Okay if I hug you?"

Marshall shrugged and shook his head again and nodded instead. The warm hand felt nice, as if he didn't need to be alone forever, not always but that sometimes somebody could be here. Like the empty feeling inside him could go away somehow sometime. A strong arm was put around him, snaked in between him and the bed and Nicolas's body snuggled up against him and the warmth radiated into Marshall's skin and into his bones. It warmed his heart. The weight of another person on top of him brought a little sigh of relief out of him. Not what his inside was screaming for but better than being alone.

Softly Nicolas kissed the back of his neck. "I'm here."

And Marshall was glad for it. Not enough, the scratch of a collar was missing. Why had he left it at home? He wanted to be Nicolas's. _Suck his dick!_ Yes. No. Uncertain he took Nicolas's hand and pulled or pushed it higher, the weight of both their bodies made things difficult. But Nicolas was always helpful, leaning them back slightly gave room for their arms to move. The rough hand followed Marshall's pull easily until he pressed the fingers around his neck. Marshall squeezed the fingers and in turn they squeezed his neck. A short nod, this was good. _Suck his dick!_

They rocked back, again Marshall lay on his stomach, arms trapped between him and the bed, Nicolas's full body on top of him, pressing him down further. The hand with a steady grip on his neck. _Suck his dick, slut!_ His body moved on its own, muscles twitching to stretch back up, to lean into Nicolas, his ass rubbed against the other's crotch. The heaviness made all movements slow and pressed but the intention loud, his hole needed to be filled with a dick.

Right next to his ear Nicolas's dark voice asked: "You still want sex?"

The vowels just a little too long flooded Marshall's ear, heat entering his bloodstream with pleasure and the throbbing in his ass had the same rhythm as the soft consonants. Marshall nodded and shook his head, the teal covers under his face were damp. Crying wasn't a solution.

The weight on top of him shifted lightly, Nicolas's breath tickled his cheek.

Marshall opened one eye and peeked past the teal covers, his blurry vision mostly saw pale shadows. He turned his head to look better at Nicolas, for Nicolas to see him speak. The warm presence was all over him. "So much … but not really." _Suck his dick, slut!_ "Can we, like, just lay here?" _Get his dick in your ass, fag. You need cum!_ "You're warm. You're here."

"Of course", Nicolas answered in a slurred whisper, the tone of his voice tender. His arm pulled Marshall closer into the hug, the thumb massaged the soft flesh of his neck. "I'm here."

And Marshall believed him. Another sigh and he leaned into the hug but missed the feeling of skin against skin. His ass rubbed a little more against Nicolas's crotch, doing its best in this tight embrace to rub the man's dick alive. His hole was empty after all. _You need a good dick down, bitch!_ Marshall bit his lips, he could taste his own blood.

"I'm here", Nicolas said again, the thumb pressed into Marshall's throat stronger. Yes, Nicolas was here. Yes, Marshall was his. "Try to relax if you can."

"You deserve better", Marshall answered, voice muffled by the damp teal covers. Why couldn't he stop even now? _Suck his dick!_ Sounded too good yet still wrong.

"It's okay, Kitten", Nicolas assured, "I'm here." Odd, really. After everything Nicolas was still here, still tried to be with him. Even Kim hadn't tried this hard, a difference between not letting go and being with someone.

Marshall rolled onto his back, tried to, wanted to but Nicolas's weight made it impossible. He looked at the shadowy face with black holes for eyes, the angle almost funny. His hands itched to get underneath the black t-shirt, to feel the skin all warm and scarred. "I always want more … too much."

The hand around Marshall's neck squeezed gently for comfort, the other hand winded its way to hold one of Marshall's, their fingers interlocked. "I watch over you. I'm not a light but I can fight in the darkness."

_Suck his dick!_ Oh God yes, all his holes were too empty. Marshall stretched underneath the warm body, his ass pressed harder against Nicolas's crotch and felt the dick he wanted to feel inside him. He moaned from the desire, mouth open invitingly. What did Nicolas mean by fighting in the darkness? "My core is rotten." Had been from the start, needy for the warmth of someone else, needy to not feel himself. His existence was a failure, Nicolas needed to build a completely new person. Didn't he see? Not being here would be much easier.

"I want you to be happy, Kitten", Nicolas gently kissed his cheek. Hands held on to Marshall firmly, the hug tight. "I fight in your darkness and you live your true happiness." His body weighted Marshall down, muscles twitched but nothing moved. Warmth seeped steadily into him.

And Marshall gave way to the hold he was in, to the weight on top of him. Yes, he was Nicolas's and the hand around his neck echoed the claim Nicolas had laid many weeks ago. "I … I don't know what that is", he admitted. His ass still rubbed against Nicolas's crotch, the hole still too empty and the dick not hard enough for his liking. _Get his dick inside you, slut!_ He was trying! He was too heavy to move, the warmth almost felt like a dream. The smell of cool stones after rain, Marshall took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Eagerness, lechery, frailty, affection, sadness, fear, anger - nothing mattered right now. Nicolas was here, he was Nicolas's.

"I make sure you don't get hurt too much", the deep voice continued the promise, "And you believe you're worth being loved." Their bodies touched everywhere and Nicolas rucked up Marshall's t-shirt, the rough, warm hand touched his stomach directly. A new wave of sparks and heat.

Another relieved sigh, the touch of skin was sublime: soft and warm and alive and a delight. Marshall wanted more, his body shifted underneath Nicolas's heaviness and the hug was only tighter. _Suck his dick!_ "I'm just a slut", his mouth ran through the same words as always, "An ugly, useless nobody. A waste of life." But Nicolas wanted to be with him so badly. Marshall was tired. Didn't he help bring three beautiful lives into this world? Some of his music spoke to people, not much but every piece of hope was worth it. Yes, he enjoyed being a slut way too much, what did it matter? In Nicolas's eyes he was adorable anyway. _Suck his dick, slut!_ Later he would again, right now the smell of cool stones after rain and the warm heaviness all around him filled him, too. There was more emptiness than just his hole in need of a dick. His heart was full with a heavy warmth he knew, but he wasn't ready for it.

"You're my Ice Princess."

Resolutely Marshall nodded. He was Nicolas's, rough fingers around his neck promised this would be forever. Not that he believed in eternities but right here, right now it was forever. "Stay with me."

"I'm here", Nicolas answered, vowels a little too long but that exactly was comforting. Fingertips softly caressed Marshall's stomach.

He closed his eyes. _Suck his dick!_ This was nice. The whisper of Nicolas's breathing reached his ear, a slow and steady rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. Marshall tried to match it with his own, concentrated on breathing in as long as Nicolas did, felt the other's chest expand against his own back. Then exhaling in a constant, quiet stream of air instead of in puffs and wheezes whenever his thoughts got too loud again. He stumbled over his breathing, taking air in too short or running out of air on the exhale once or twice. But Nicolas lay with him patient and calm, breathing in and out steadily, consistently. Something to rely on. The slow rhythm was calming by itself, the strain in his muscles lessened with each steady, in synch breath.

"I'm here", the dark voice whispered, more vowel than consonant. A brief kiss on Marshall's shoulder, again the wish fabric wouldn't separate them. The hug still tight, mostly because of their bodies pressing down thanks to gravity, no effort needed. Just being together.

He felt his heartbeat in his chest and in the vein of his neck, the pulse right against Nicolas's fingertips. Always felt too fast. "I want to be with you", Marshall answered in the same quiet tone. Sometimes it was easier to say what you felt by quoting somebody else.

Another kiss on his shoulder. Nicolas was here, not just wanting and trying to be with him, but he actually was with him. His warmth seeped down into Marshall's body, into his limbs and muscles, warmed him from the inside. This unmistakable feeling pooled in Marshall's chest right next to his heart, he could feel his cells saving it up for a rainy day. Hard times were always in front of you, storing away any morsel of good was essential. Marshall didn't have much in here, mostly the love for his daughters and a few chosen moments with his friends, one or two of his career. Now Nicolas's warmth and patience was here, too. Maybe this was an illusion … It wasn't. _Suck his dick, slut!_ He felt what he felt. He liked Nicolas quite a lot and he trusted him, clearly this wasn't an illusion. Was it justified? Right now Marshall didn't care. This was nice. This felt real. This felt almost loving. His ass didn't understand what this meant, still intermittently rubbing against Nicolas's crotch to get his dick inside him. Which undeniably would also be very nice indeed, but it wasn't everything. They wanted to be together.

"Do you need more?", Nicolas asked and Marshall exerted too much effort to hear shaming in the husky voice. He wasn't even sure what that would sound like, mostly Nicolas just took him as he was.

A little courage rose for him to speak up for himself, something he couldn't always do even in regards to his music. There better than in other parts of his life. But Nicolas wanted him to be happy, whatever that would look like. "Hm … Could we-could we take this off?"

Intently the black eyes looked at him. "You like to be naked, hm?"

"That's not - I mean, it's just …"

"It's okay", a soft chuckle interrupted him, "Being naked with you is nice."

Marshall hid his face in the covers again. Sometimes Nicolas's frankness threw him for a loop, even though he himself said way more outlandish things on a daily basis. A song was very different from a moment like this.

Nicolas raised his body off of him and the embrace broke with it, but the rough hands stayed on Marshall, stroked over his arms and his back. Never without his touch. They found a way beneath the t-shirt, fingertips sliding across the skin of his back while pushing the fabric up.

Without the weight of a man pressing him down, Marshall finally shifted onto his back. His hands immediately reached out for Nicolas's thighs that bracketed him, stroking the strong legs up and down slowly. Only for a moment interrupted when his t-shirt came off, the teal colored fabric of the bed soft against his skin. Easily he opened the belt and button of Nicolas's pants, couldn't help but for his hand to slide in and stroke the dick he knew so many fun things to do with.

The t-shirt flew carelessly into the room, away from the bed. Nicolas leaned down to him, hands left and right from Marshall's face propping him up. "How's your ass feeling?"

"A little lonely?", Marshall answered truthfully and massaged the dick that could help with that. Not right now it shouldn't, but in principle.

"I meant from the spanking." Nicolas put a kiss on Marshall's forehead before he leaned back to sit half on his heels, half on Marshall's pelvis. He grabbed the hem of his own t-shirt and pulled it off as well.

Mouthing an understanding 'oh', Marshall watched his boyfriend undress. How a part of the big scar on his hip came into view and the well-trained muscles on his abdomen and chest virtually danced with even the tiniest movements. What a handsome, handsome man he was, even though the shadows underneath his eyes and the often grim lines of his face could hide it for a little while.

Cocking his head, Nicolas looked down at him. "So? Can I take a look?"

"Hm? What?" Marshall had a hard time dragging his eyes up to Nicolas's face, the muscular body and the skin with all these tiny scars was too nice to look at. His index finger stroked lightly about the huge scar over the hipbone, followed it until the waistband stopped him.

"Wanna make sure you're alright." Nicolas hooked his fingers into the waistband of Marshall's sweats and slowly pulled them down.

Lifting his body when needed Marshall helped undressing himself. Now his legs free from the sweatpants but also from Nicolas, his feet stroked flirtatiously over Nicolas's thighs and stomach, soft pressure on the crotch. "'Kay, whatever", he answered. When not counting his rap skills his ass was his best feature, of course Nicolas could look and play with it. His toes curled into the waistband and pulled it down, his boyfriend needed to be naked, too.

A strong grip around Marshall's knees and Nicolas pulled him closer with a bold move, legs spread out wide instinctively. "Not gonna put anything into you, promise." Nicolas bent down for a sweet kiss, fingertips caressing the back of Marshall's thighs.

A raw tingle. His own hands fondled the chest, and the dog tags Nicolas always wore fell down on Marshall's. Something that annoyed him with other people even when it was his own jewelry, but here it was another piece of Nicolas touching him. A short nod, recapturing the lips that tried to end the kiss and he wrapped his legs around Nicolas's hips. He wouldn't mind him putting something into his hole … though he would. His hole was too needy for his own good, easy to see but hard to remedy. _Suck his dick, slut! Just roll him over and ride his dick, fag!_ That's how he got himself into trouble.

Marshall opened his eyes, the kiss faded. Hands cupped Nicolas's jaw and all light disappeared into those black eyes. "Thank you", he whispered sincerely, hand from his chin to sign it. He couldn't remember another time like this, his body screaming for sex so loudly and the other person didn't just fuck him self-indulgently or insulted him as a sex fiend. Hard to believe this was real. But it also made those other moments worse, shining a light on what not to do simply by doing it better. No therapy session needed to know this was better.

A rough thumb caressed Marshall's cheek, smeared another tear away. "I'm here."

And he probably didn't know what a world of good this was. "It's okay, I'm just …", Marshall rubbed the tears out of his eyes, not because crying wasn't helpful, it sometimes could be he knew that, but because he wasn't really sad. Weirdly, he felt lighter now. The need was still screaming in his bones, his hips buckling upwards as if this could make the other's dick fuck him already - actually, it often did. Anger and frustration about frightening his daughters, that he didn't have himself under control and how royally he fucked everything up with Nicolas - all was still here. The fear of being left alone again.

Yet, he felt lighter. Less wrong, less ugly, less disgusting. "You're too nice to me", not what he wanted to say but the only words he knew that came close.

"I want you to be happy", Nicolas answered, a little questioning frown on his forehead.

"I know", maybe it was already working. Marshall slid away from Nicolas and to the center of the bed. »You can do everything you want«, he signed with an honest smile, because Nicolas wouldn't forget him. Then Marshall laid down on his stomach, finding a nice enough position his too willing dick wouldn't bitch over.

As he heard steps walking away from the bed, he looked over his shoulder and saw Nicolas's naked behind disappear into the bathroom. Marshall licked his lips, that was a nice butt to sink your teeth into, he should do that more often.

With a bottle in hand Nicolas came out the bathroom again. Apparently, he had a plan here? _He finally gon' fuck you, slut? It's about damn time!_ The muscles in Marshall's stomach tensed with anticipation but he was sure Nicolas wouldn't. Right?

Nicolas climbed onto the bed, a hand lightly stroked Marshall's leg. "Try to relax if you can", he said again. The cap of the bottle plopped with a small noise, twice. Oiled up hands stroked the back of Marshall's thigh, first light but with each new slow stroke up and down the thumbs dug deeper into the flesh.

Honestly, his ass didn't feel too bad, slightly sore and hot but fine. Marshall really didn't think this was necessary. On the other hand, Nicolas touching him he wouldn't complain about. He liked the feel of the rough, warm hands on his skin.

Now they switched to his other thigh, slow strokes up and down until they stopped. "You have a freckle here, you know that?", the tip of a finger poked into Marshall's right butt cheek.

"What now?", he asked back and turned around, half on his side and trying to look over his shoulder to the spot.

"Right here, a cute, lonely freckle", Nicolas answered amused. He leaned down to give the spot an innocent kiss.

Freckles weren't a point of interest to him. Marshall shrugged, "Okay then?"

Nicolas's thumb caressed the same spot gently. "I like your freckles."

"I don't really have any." Marshall frowned puzzled.

"Well, I found some anyway", and Nicolas grinned at him, somehow cheery and mean at the same time. A case of false advertising, Nicolas wasn't really mean his face just looked like this.

Marshall rolled back to lay on his stomach comfortably. If Nicolas wanted to massage his butt freckle, he had no objections. It was Nicolas touching his ass, how could Marshall object?

The cap of the bottle plopped another two times, more oil. The faint smell of lavender climbed into his nose. Gently and soothing the hands kneaded his butt cheeks, Marshall stretched back for more, his hole was too empty. But Nicolas kept his promise and didn't even touch it, all his efforts to spoil him concentrated on massaging his glutes and parts of his lower back. Not to say his butt didn't appreciate the attention, the low hum in Marshall's throat spoke for itself. Still, his ass always tried to get more. Never enough.

Yet, Nicolas was still here.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me here: <https://twitter.com/InGenius11>  
I sporadically tweet about my progress, if that's something you're curious about.


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